


Bizarre Love Triangle

by Harpokrates



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Battle of Yavin, F/F, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Force Bond (Star Wars), M/M, Pregnancy, Sort Of, Space battles!, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy, Xenophilia, Xenophobia, most of the relationships are background, or something, tags to be added as i remember to add them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 31,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24416044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harpokrates/pseuds/Harpokrates
Summary: After the Siege of Lothal, Wolffe must face his past, and his own corroding mental state.
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios, Kaeden Larte/Ahsoka Tano, Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla, Plo Koon/CC-3636 | Wolffe
Comments: 49
Kudos: 196





	1. Living a life that I can't leave behind

"I never appologized to Tano, you know." Wolffe said, leaning against the wall and staring at the scuffed paint of Wren's old graffiti.

"What?" Rex snapped out of his fuge. He was sitting on their shared bunk (Rex claimed the lower one by virtue of being decanted first), and running maintenance on his deecees. "Sorry. Missed that."

"Commander Tano. I was the one who stunned her, remember? After that bomb plot?  
" Wolffe shifted, letting his other shoulder take the cool burn of the metal. "I never apologized for that."

"She worked through it." Wolffe saw Rex shrug out of the corner of his eye. "We all got caught up in a mess too big for us. You know, one of those schemes within schemes."

"I wouldn't have forgiven me."

"What are you on about?" Rex leaned forwards. "You aren't thoughtful."

Wolffe made a rude gesture at him without looking.

"Nice."

"Shut up, brother." Wolffe sighed, and pressed his forehead against the wall. "I feel old."

"You are old."

"Ah," Wolffe waved at him, "I feel tired. All this is just too much."

"You getting shellshocked, Wolffe?" Rex rose and put a hand on his shoulder. "I thought they built the CCs better than that."

"No, I'm steady. Gregor dying is just making me think."

"So you finally have a thought rattling around in that head of yours." Rex grabbed him and pulled him into a loose headlock. "First time. How's it feel?"

"Ey!" Wolffe batted at him. "It's a lot better than yours, brother!"

"Ahhh, don't think so." Rex ducked out of range. "Twi'lek on Ithor!"

"What, that the first time your brain start working or the first time you found enough credits to buy fifteen minutes?"

"You wound me, Wolffe." Rex pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense.

"Right, right. We both know you only needed to pay for three."

Rex swatted at him, then finally let him go. Wolffe caught his breath (it took longer than he would have liked), and sat down. The Ghost was docked in the Fortitude's hangar, settled out of the way until they could find a good planet to stash it while it's Captain was on medical leave. He and Rex were crammed into Wren's old room, now that she was busy on Mandalore. It was better than being stuffed in some general barracks, and more space than the old AT-TE.

Wolffe exhaled. "I'm having regrets, Rex, and I don't like it. Before the fight, I told Gregor to fuck off 'cause he was standing too close to me. He's dead… I can't apologize for that. Tano, too. I wanna tell her I'm sorry. I could have listened, but I'm just too trigger happy." Wolffe ran a hand down his face. "Listen to me talk."

"I hear you, brother." Rex said quietly. "We all have regrets."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Ahsoka was like my sister. Went nearly two decades without seeing her, and I never even bothered to tell her I love her. Ahhh," Rex pressed his knuckles into his chin, "what kind of brother am I, eh? Only trooper I got out was Gregor, and only because he got his damn head smashed in at the right angle."

He looked at Wolffe. "You never told me why yours stopped working."

Wolffe shrugged. "I never knew. I woke up like that. Think we passed through some space microwave; fried my head."

"Ever wish it didn't?"

Wolffe looked away. "Yeah. Be a lot easier. That other Wolffe, he didn't think like this."

He also didn't know what the unfriendly end of a blaster tasted like, but Rex worried about him enough without that detail.

Rex snorted. "No you don't. Wolffe I knew always picked the harder path. Y'know, out of spite."

"I think I'm a different man."

Rex ignored him. "C'mon. Commissary is open. Let's see if we can find some of Phoenix Squadron."

"You don't need to visit the Commissary."

"Oh, not you too."

* * *

"What do you mean I have to surrender my blaster?" Wolffe scowled. The Fortitude was sitting in an orbital dock just outside the Yavin system, where the Rebellion was currently stationed. It made sense that everyone from Lothal had to be cleared—spies were everywhere—but that didn't mean Wolffe had to like it.

"I mean, you have to surrender your blaster." Orrelios repeated, tapping his foot. "Play nice, Wolffe. You'll get it back."

"Oh, and you're gonna give them your bo-rifle?" Wolffe gestured to the weapon slung across Orrelios's back.

"Yeah. Eventually, look." Orrelios placed his hands on Wolffe's shoulder. "They always do this after fights. Everything gets checked over, blaster fire gets counted, they, uh. Well, they had a problem a few years back where somebody skipped medical and, eh. Well, his roommate found him and had to go to therapy for a few months."

"They built clones better than that." Wolffe checked the safety and handed his blaster to the skinny kid in charge of running them down to repairs. "I want that back. Yeah, we don't get shocked."

Orrelios stared at him flatly. "You really wanna try and pull that one on me? You realize I've met you?"

"What does that mean? There's nothing wrong with me." Wolffe followed the hall and sat in one of the chairs outside the room where Rebel high command was debriefing everyone.

"Oh, so I imagined you freaking out at Kanan?"

Wolffe frowned. "That's not shellshock; there was a chip in my head. Of course I'm screwy around Jedi."

"Right. Nothing wrong with you." Orrelios turned to him. "Look, I can recommend someone. Nothing shameful in talking."

"I'm fine. Little Gods, between you and Rex, I feel like I've got a horde of Dorin grandmothers."

Orrelios gave him a funny look. "What's to know about Dorin grandmothers?"

Wolffe shrugged. "They nag. I'm told."

Orrelios nodded sagely. "Ah. I've got a few of those myself."

The door opened, and that Imperial Agent stepped out.

"See," Orrelios elbowed Wolffe. "Here's one now. Kallus! How are you holding up?"

"Garazeb." Kallus nodded stiffly. "I'm fine." He winced. "Need to go to medical."

Orrelios's ears went a little flat, and he grabbed Kallus by the shoulders, examining him. "What? You're not hurt, are you?"

"No, no. Let go of me, you oaf!" Kallus batted Orrelios's hands away. Wolffe grimaced. "My leg is acting up again."

"Ah." Orrelios nodded. "I've got to debrief. I'll catch up with you."

"Don't waste your time." Kallus waved him off. He nodded at Wolffe "Commander."

"Yeah."

Wolffe watched Orrelios watch him go. "Little Gods, you're going to give me cavities. He's supposed to be the grandmother?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" They watched as a frowning Ithorian woman, still in her flight suit, was called in for debrief.

"Oh Kallus," Wolffe mocked, pitching his voice high, "you're not hurt, are you? Here, let me tend your wounds with my big strong arms." He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead.

"I don't sound like that." Orrelios frowned.

"Sure, but everything else was correct."

"I—" Orrelios sat down and curled his fingers around his chin. "Really?"

"Really." Wolffe confirmed. "And here I thought Bly was dense."

"Who's Bly?"

"Brother. He was blaster over boots for his general, and everyone in the GAR knew except for him."

"I'm not blaster over boots." Orrelios said, but he didn't sound like he was doing a very good job convincing himself. "I don't even wear boots."

"Riiight." Wolffe drawled. "And General Syndulla's baby isn't Jarrus'."

Orrelios's ears went flat. "What?"

Wolffe eyed him. "She's not getting fat, Spectre-6. I've known about three women in my entire life and even I can tell there's a baby in there."

"What? No, I know she's pregnant, but...Kanan?" Orrelios leaned forwards. "He was a Jedi."

Wolffe felt his face screw up in confusion. "You lived on the same ship as them for how many years and you couldn't tell they were sleeping together?"

"W-well—I—" Orrelios stammered. "I assumed it was sexless. Y'know, ascetic. Jedi aren't supposed to do that sort of thing."

Wolffe scoffed. "Ask Rex about his Jedi one of these days. He has stories."

Orrelios ran his hands over the top of his head. "Fuck you for making me know that. I can't believe this."

"You're so fantastic at denial, you even deny other people's relationships. I'm impressed."

"Oh, eat dirt. How the hell do you know, anyways?"

"I'm a clone, Spectre-6. Most accomplished gossip force in the galaxy. Give me a few days and I can tell you anything about anyone on this base."

"I'll pay you not to do that." The door slid open. He sighed in relief. "Ashla's luck."

Orrelios dodged around the Ithioran pilot and ducked into the room, leaving Wolffe alone with his thoughts.

You put a few million identical men in the same starship, what did you expect them to do if not talk shit? Wolffe didn't know most of the troops under his command, especially after Abgadeo, but he certainly knew about them. Of course, not all of it was true, but that was the fun part.

Orrelios was in his debrief long enough for Wolffe to nod off, his head drooping down onto his shoulder. The door opening woke him, and he regretted not finding the opportunity to take off his armor. He woke up aching twenty years ago, and time had only made it worse.

Orrelios grinned at him. He looked awful, but that was what happened when you played a key role in a critical mission. His own debrief for Tano's capture had taken eight hours, easy, although most of that was waiting for everything he said to be confirmed and corroborated by Fox and his men.

"You're up." Orrelios gave him a thumbs up. Wolffe also put a finger up, just not that one. He rose, his back cracking loudly, and walked as gracefully as he could manage into the debrief room. There were three people waiting for him: a frowning man he recognized as General Draven, a Mon Cala woman, and a hologram of none other than Senator Organa. Wolffe hid his surprise, and saluted.

"Sirs."

"Please, take a seat. "I'm Colonel Chiant Ko. This is General Draven, and Senator Organa. If you could please state your name?"

"Yessir. Com—Wolffe. CC-3636."

Senator Organa narrowed his eyes. "A clone commander? How did you overcome your orders?"

"I don't know." Wolffe said truthfully. "My chip stopped working in my sleep."

"And when was ths?" Colonel Ko asked.

"About a decade ago, now."

"The Spectres tell us nothing." General Draven pinched the bridge of his nose. "Continue. What did you do after that?"

"I deserted the Imperial Navy. I stole a ship and jumped through old Republic holdouts, until I found Rex and Gregor."

"That's CT-7567 and CC-5576-39." Colonel Ko read from a datapad. "For the record."

"Right. They were holed up in an old AT-TE on Seelos. I stayed there until some contacts of Rex's showed up. The Spectres," Wolffe shifted uncomfortably. "I contacted the Empire with their location, but they managed to escape."

"More detail, please." General Draven drummed his fingers on the table.

"Um, right." Wolffe exhaled. "The Spectres rewired an old tactical droid to trace our signal on Seelos. They confronted Rex, and Jarrus recognized us as clones. I assumed they were looking for revenge, and shot at him."

"A moment." Senator Organa held up a finger. "Revenge?"

"Yes sir. It made sense to me that the only reason a Jedi would track down some old clones was to kill them."

"Would a Jedi have a reason to seek revenge on you?"

"Sir?"

"Did you kill any Jedi during Order 66?" General Draven clarified.

Wolffe felt himself pale. "No." He exhaled. "I was on, uh, Cato Nemodia with the 104th. The only Jedi there was Gen—Master Plo Koon. He, um, he was shot down. Captain Jag, I think."

"You think?"

"I don't remember that day very well."

"I have confirmation." Colonel Ko said. "Imperial incident report 890-A. Claims he was killed in a sucide attack against a Nemodian grub-nursery."

"That's a lie!" Wolffe slammed his hands on the table and stood up. "He was shot down! He would never… not children. I—" They were all staring at him. Colonel Ko's hand was at her hip.

Wolffe sat back down. "Sorry."

"Try to control yourself, Wolffe." General Draven said. "Of course we dont believe anti-Jedi propaganda."

"It says that Jag—and you got the name right, CC-55—noticed him veering towards the building and fired on his ship. He was commended for it."

Wolffe's vision felt constricted.

"Are you alright, Wolffe?" Senator Organa leaned forwards.

"Fine. I'm fine. I don't really remember much of this."

"That's fine." Colonel Ko said. Why don't we move on? You fired at Kanan Jarrus and?"

"Right. Uh, we—Gregor and I—fired on them: Jarrus, Bridger, Wren, and Orrelios. Rex talked us down, and they told us that Tano sent them to recruit Rex. She had been sending him messages. I uh, I hid them from him. Rex initially refused, and we gave them a list of potential bases. Gregor somehow convinced them to go joopa-slinging—a joopa is a big worm… thing. You can eat them. I contacted the Empire and told them that I had seen a Jedi."

"Why?" Senator Organa, again with the hard questions.

"I don't… I don't really know. I thought the Empire would retaliate against us if I didn't. I…" Wolffe looked off to the side.

"Was this the first time you contacted the Empire from Seelos? Did you ever inform them of Tano's messages?"

Wolffe shook his head. "I never told them about the messages, but, uh, I contacted them a few times. I thought I saw things."

A distant figure. It was always the same.

Colonel Ko looked at General Draven, who frowned.

"I didn't," Wolffe held up his hands, "I was just imagining things."

"Continue."

"Right. One of their probes found us. An Imperial ship arrived and contacted me. It was Agent Kallus, actually. I tried to lie to him, blamed my eye, but he didn't buy it, and attacked us with three AT-ATs. The Spectres fled on the Phantom, and Rex, Gregor, and I attacked the AT-ATs with our AT-TE. The Phantom returned, and Jarrus had us hide in a sandstorm, where he and Bridger were able to use the Force to incapacitate one of the AT-ATs and escape. Rex left with them, and Gregor and I retrofitted the AT-AT into a living space.

"Nothing of note really happened until Rex, Kallus, and General Syndulla, gathered Hondo Ohnaka, the pirate, and a bounty hunter, and recruited us for the Liberation of Lothal."

"Nothing of note." General Draven said. "Expand on that."

"Just day-to-day. Hunting food. Chores. Making Gregor take his meds. Sometimes we went into town for supplies."

"Did anyone ever recognize you?"

Wolffe shook his head. "No. I wore a cloak. Most people don't like clones. It's smart not to be noticed."

"Alright."

"Right. Liberation. General Syndulla took us to Lothal and we received a message that the camp was under attack. Onhaka… tried to get us killed. He, ah, had General Syndulla clamp the Ghost to an Imperial freighter—a smuggler trick. We slipped past the blockade, and landed to provide reinforcements. We fought until the Ghost was driven away, then retreated into one of the caves. Bridger… used some Jedi magic to summon… wolves, and managed to turn the tide of the battle. The governor surrendered."

Wolffe trailed off.

"Wolffe?" Senator Organa prompted.

"Sorry. Sorry. I'm a little… scatterbrained about this."

"We can take a short break."

"I can continue." Wolffe cleared his throat. "Vizago, Mart, and I remained on the base, and were attacked by uh, this grey creature. Admiral Thrawn's assassin. I was knocked unconscious, but apparently one of the wolves drove the assassin off. He stole one of our shuttles and ran to warn Thrawn. Apparently Bridger spoke to Mart—gave him some mission. We entered high orbit and broadcasted on frequency zero."

"Did you have any other details about this mission? Did Bridger speak to you at all?"

"No. I just thought we were waiting for the others to signal us for pick up."

Colonel Ko nodded for him to continue.

"Frequency zero attracted… purgils. The big hyperspace creatures. And Mart had us fly towards the Imperial ships. They, ah, well, they latched onto the command ship and dragged it into hyperspace."

"And Bridger was on the Imperial ship?"

"Yes. He was on the main channel. Told us that the… that the Force would be with us."

"Did that bother you?"

"Senator…" General Draven looked at Senator Organa.

"How do you mean, sir?"

"You seem to have… problems with Jedi. Did this mention of the Force bother you?"

"...No. I don't have… problems with Jedi."

"If we can get back to the debrief?"

"Right. Ah, we picked up the group on the Imperial dome, they primed the launch, and Wren triggered the explosives. The dome exploded. And then, we came here. And that's it."

Colonel Ko glanced at General Draven. "Thank you, Wolffe. We may contact you for more details in the future. In the meantime…" She trailed off.

"Wolffe." General Draven said. "We're pleased to have anyone for the Alliance, and especially people with military history like yours, but some of the things you've told us are concerning."

"Concerning? Concerning how?"

"Concerning." General Draven said firmly. "If you want to remain a part of the Alliance, we're going to require that you see a psychiatric professional."

"Psychiatric?" Wolffe looked down. "You think I'm crazy."

"No one said that."

"You sure implied it."

Colonel Ko rolled her eyes. It was impressive on a Mon Calamari. "Psychiatric help doesn't mean you're crazy."

"The only reason for a clone to go to a shrink is if they're like Gregor: injured." Wolffe tapped his fist against the side of his head. "We don't break down like nat-borns. We're engineered against it."

"Our conditions are final." Colonel Ko said firmly. "Did you have any other questions?"

"No sir."

"Well then—"

"If I could ask one more question?" Senator Organa spoke up.

"Go ahead." General Draven looked like he aged ten years in the last two hours.

"Wolffe. Why didn't you search the wreckage for Master Plo Koon?"

Wolffe's throat constricted. "I did, sir." He forced the words out.

"You did? You didn't mention it."

"It was procedure. A ship gets shot down, you check on it. I didn't think I had to mention it."

"Tell us what happened." Colonel Ko said.

"His ship got shot. He hit… a bridge, I think. We tracked the smoke trail and found the ship. The cockpit was almost completely destroyed. I found. Um. I found an arm, and I knew he was dead. So we stopped searching."

"You seem distraught."

"Of course I seem distraught!" Wolffe snapped, before reeling himself in. "Gener—Master Plo always looked out for us. He was—I," Wolffe cut himself off. "And we killed him."

"Do you feel guilty?"

"Bail, stop playing therapist!" General Draven said. "Wolffe. You're dismissed. Go to the medical bay. I'll be sending over a psych eval request."

"Yes sir." Wolffe saluted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome!  
> First things first, title and chapter titles are from New Order's Bizarre Love Triangle.
> 
> This is a story made of several whims, but the major one is: how does star wars handle mental illness? This is a universe where people do legitimately see and hear things that no one else can, but that are actually there. Where's the line between Force visions, or Force ghosts, and hallucinations?
> 
> If someone came into a psych office and said that they could feel other people's emotions and convince them to do things with the power of their mind, they'd probably come out with a new prescription.
> 
> I swear I saw in something somewhere that the clones were engineered to withstand the mental stresses of combat. My take on that was that they're PTSD proof, with mental illness only occurring in clones that have had physical injury (Gregor, Tup, etc). Wolffe canonically has serious issues with Jedi, but also (and this is a quote from rebels) had a history of 'calls of delusional distress'. This is never mentioned again after the introductory episode, but like, hey, Dave? What does this mean? Is he seeing things, or is he pissed off living with Rex and dials the Empire for giggles?
> 
> Anyways, I also wanted to write a story where Plo Koon survived (I read somewhere that the plan was for him to eject from the ship and land, only to be gunned down on the ground), a story where Wolffe and Plo want to be romantically involved but can't because they're serious dudes with serious vows they take seriously, and a story where Sha Koon shows up. I like Sha.
> 
> So instead of writing all of these things separately, I wrote them into one long rambling monster.
> 
> Expect this to update on Wednesdays, but don't be surprised if I miss an update.
> 
> As always, come shout at me over on biofreak659.tumblr.com!


	2. It's no problem of mine

The medical bay wasn't busy, but it was obvious that it had been extremely busy very recently. The droids were sizzling with heat, and the sentient medics looked dead on their feet. It was only the threat of expulsion from the Rebellion that kept Wolffe from caving and going back to his room.

"Ah, hi," Wolffe flagged down the least exhausted medic he could find, an older Twi'lek man. "I was told to report here. I'm Wolffe."

"Good for you." The medic said. "Come on."

He led Wolffe back to an examination table.

"Sit." He slapped a sensor lead on the side of Wolffe's head and recorded the data to a holopad. "Heartrate good. Blood pressure is a little high: eat less salt. Let me—FX! I need a brain scan!"

"Brain scan?" Wolffe shifted backwards.

"It's standard." The medic said, not looking at him. "You get these little occult bleeds, people walk off, and the next thing you know, bam, face down dead in the ration slop."

"Brain scan it is." Wolffe lay back, and tried to calm his racing heart.

"Don't like doctors?" The medic asked wrily.

"Don't like droids scanning my brains. Bad memories."

"I suppose you are old enough to have served in the Clone War." The medic mused. "Alright, all…"

He trailed off.

"What?" Wolffe tried to sit up, but a quick hand from the medic pushed him back down.

"You stay there. Everything is fine. I just… need someone else to look at this."

While he was gone, Wolffe had a really great time thinking of all the things that could be wrong with him. Brain bleed was the first thing to mind, and then of course, the fear that his chip grew back, or had never gone in the first place. Maybe it was a tumor, nevermind that clones did not get those. Some shrapnel, perhaps? Maybe it was the rest of his eye. They'd never found it all after Ventress sliced it out.

The medic returned with another medic, a Kel Dor. It was a little embarrassing how just the familiar sight of an antiox mask and goggles made him calm down. It was even more embarrassing that everyone could hear it, thanks to the sensor on his forehead. It wasn't even the right pattern hammered into the metal.

"Doctor Sha, look." The medic pointed to a… something, on the projection. What little Wolffe could see looked like a featureless grey blob. Let Rex take a look at this; Wolffe would never hear the end of the thoughtless jokes.

The Kel Dor, Dr. Sha glanced at him. "I see it. Aloa, could you find another droid. I want a repeat scan."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Thank you."

She waited until he left, then sat down by the table. "Hello, Wolffe. I'm Dr. Sha."

"Hello, Doctor. Ah, what's happening, exactly? Am I dying?"

"No, no. There's just something a little strange showing on your brain scan. It's likely a glitch." She smiled. It wasn't obvious, but Wolffe had practice reading Kel Dor expressions. "You can't exactly afford new droids on a Rebellion budget."

"Right, sure."

She glanced over his chart. "I see Aola hasn't begun your psych eval. Would you like to work on that while he finds a new droid? I'll advise you that I'm one of the few psychiatric professionals in this part of the Rebellion, so you'll likely be seeing me if action needs to be taken."

"Sure." Wolffe shrugged.

"You don't sound very enthusiastic."

"I'm a clone. We can't get shellshock. I just think this is pointless."

"Well, there's nothing to do but pass time. Could you confirm your name and date of birth for me?"

"Wolffe. CC-3636. I was ah, born 13 BED, second batch, on Kamino."

"Born?"

"Clones aren't really born. We sort of gestated in these pods, and the Kaminoans removed us when we hit three and a half kilos."

"I see. Have you ever had a psychiatric evaluation?"

"No. Never needed one. There were a few… funny clones. Y'know, they got too enthusiastic during live fire exercises as cadets, but they were decommissioned before the entered the GAR."

"Decommissioned?"

"Euthanized."

"Did this happen often?"

Wolffe shrugged. "I'm not a scientist, but sure. Sometimes the batches went funny. When I was a cadet, they grew a whole batch that couldn't process solid food. They were all decommissioned."

"Does that bother you?"

Wolffe looked at her. "I know I sound like a deranged killer, talking about it like that, but it wasn't like—" suicide run into a grub nursery "that. They were just defective. They couldn't survive."

"Alright. I'm going to ask you a few questions. Do you ever have outbursts, where you feel like you can't control your emotions?"

Wolffe didn't respond.

"If it helps, you can answer never, sometimes, or often. I know yes or no questions can be limiting."

"Sometimes." Wolffe gritted out.

"Thank you. Do you ever have flashbacks, or intrusive thoughts or images from upsetting times in your life?"

"...sometimes."

"Do you have difficulty concentrating?"

"Sometimes."

"When someone reminds you of distressing times in your life, do you become very upset, sad, or angry?"

"Sometimes."

"Do you ever avoid situations because they might remind you of these times?"

Wolffe sighed. "You know what the answer is."

"Alright. Wolffe, do you feel detached from other people? Do you have difficulty socializing?"

"No." Finally, a decent answer.

"Thank you." Dr. Sha fiddled with her datapad, while Wolffe tried very hard not to feel like he'd just failed a quiz.

"Well, how'd I do?"

"If I'm going to be completely frank with you, this is actually a lot better than some of the Rebels I screen."

"That's… good."

"In a way. Now, I have one more question for you. Wolffe, do you ever see or hear things that other people can't?"

Wolffe watched her warily. "What?"

"Do you see or hear things that other people can't?"

"You want to know if i'm seeing things that aren't there?"

"If you want to answer that question, go ahead."

Wolffe looked away. "I… I have a record of reporting Jedi, but they were um, 'calls of delusional distress'."

"And these Jedi, did you see them?"

Wolffe nodded. Where was Aola with that droid?

"Would you tell me about them? Was it just," Dr. Sha shrugged, "rocks that looked like they were wearing cloaks from a distance? Or was it something else?"

"Rocks?"

"You said in your debrief that you were concerned that a Jedi might try to hunt you down out of revenge." Dr. Sha explained. "To someone looking for a Jedi around every corner, rocks in the desert might start to look like Jedi, out of the corner of your eye. It's very normal."

"Seeing imaginary Jedi is normal, huh?" Wolffe chuckled, then fell silent. "No. It wasn't."

"Did you see this Jedi from a distance, or very close to you?"

"Both. I saw him at a distance, and I walked over."

"Did what you see change at all?"

"Change how?

"Did it become more frightening, or perhaps changed its appearance, or did it remain the same?"

"The same."

"Alright. You walked over. Did this ever happen more than once?"

"Yes." Wolffe looked away. "I saw him a few more times. But I never got closer. I just contacted the Empire."

"When you walked over to the Jedi, was it day or night?"

"Night, but the moons were out. I could see clearly. I wasn't… I wasn't mistaking someone for a Jedi. I was just seeing things."

"Wolffe," Dr. Sha leaned in slightly, "the way you're talking about the Jedi, did you recognize him?"

"Do I have to answer these questions?" Wolffe snapped, then deflated. "I don't want…"

"It's alright." Dr. Sha held up her hand. "You don't need to say anything until you're comfortable. Wolffe, I do think that you would benefit from psychiatric help. Even if you don't have any emotional disturbances, it's clear that whatever you saw on Seelos was distressing, and I'd like to help you work through this."

"Are you gonna make me take pills?" Wolffe craned his head to look at her. "They did that to Gregor, but he hated them."

"I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to, Wolffe." She smiled slightly. "Except perhaps this second brain scan. This is actually medically emergent."

"Sure."

Aola dragged over another FX droid, complaining the entire time. Together, he and Dr. Sha set up the unit to take two simultaneous scans of Wolffe's brain.

"You can sit up now," Dr. Sha told him, hunching over the holo.

"Alright. What's the damage?" Wolffe peered at the projection. He could see his false eye as a stark white blob in the middle of the grey mass. Creepy.

"It's not damaged, but it is there." Dr. Sha mused. She pointed to a blob among blobs. "This here is… dense."

"I have a chip." Wolffe added. "It doesn't work, but it was never removed."

"Yes, it's here." Dr. Sha pointed to another blob. "I'd like to remove it, but it can stay for a little while."

"Been there for thirty years."

"Hm. Well, Wolffe. I'm afraid I can't tell you what this is without a few more tests. We don't have the equipment onboard for that, so we won't be able to do anything until we get clearance to orbit Yavin, where there's a medical frigate. It's not a tumor, but it's possible that it's what's been causing you to see things."

"Alright. So what now?" Wolffe crossed his arms.

"Right now, I'd like you to eat something and get some rest. I'll contact you tomorrow, and we can discuss what you've been seeing, or anything else that's been bothering you."

"Sounds…" bad, "good."

"Have a good day, Wolffe."

"You too, Gen—Dr. Sha."

"What was that?" Dr. Sha turned to look at him, wide eyed.

"Nothing. Sorry, habit. I knew another Kel Dor."

"Of course you did." She sounded like she'd been punched. "Wolffe."

"Right." Wolffe glanced between her and Aola, who looked as confused as he felt. "Good evening, then."

Wolffe all but fled. Weird medics. What he wouldn't give for Hypo and his blunt, kick to the teeth approach to medicine. There was no time for nice feelings in the middle of a warzone.

He found Orrelios in the commissary, eventually. It wasn't like it was hard, he just had to follow the stream of people complaining about the big Lasat mooning over the blond guy, but it was halfway across the ship, and he was tired.

"Wolffe!" Orrelios waved him over. "You look like shit."

"Thanks, asshole."

"You had to talk to Senator Organa, didn't you?" Kallus said. He looked like Wolffe felt.

"How could you tell?"

"He asks the particularly exhausting questions. 'How does that make you feel?' and all that."

"Yep." Wolffe grimaced. "I just want to sleep for the next three days."

"Too bad." Orrelios nudged him. "We're setting up on Yavin. This is the real deal Rebellion stuff: Home-1."

"Thought you didn't even care about the Rebellion?" Wolffe yawned, and accepted the cup of water Kallus handed him.

"Well, I care about destroying the Empire. Same thing, in the end."

"Not… really." Kallus squinted at him. "What, are you just going to run off to the edge of Wild Space and live in a cave when this is all over?"

Orrelios face went carefully blank. "What I mean to say is I don't care about galactic government. Lasan wasn't even part of the Republic. Restoring it isn't really a big deal to me."

"Fair… enough." Kallus said slowly.

They fell into silence, and Wolffe contemplated eating something. Not yet though. He didn't feel up to it.

"So, what's the damage?" Orrelios asked Wolffe.

"Huh?"

"Your medical report; anything fun?" Orrelios leaned over conspiratorially. "Kal's left leg is two centimeters shorter than his right one."

"It was always like that, thank you."

Orrelios ignored him. "if you ask real nice, I bet he'll let you see the scar."

Wolffe scoffed. "Broken leg is nothing." He tapped his eye. Orrelios winced.

"What, this bother you?" Wolffe rubbed his finger across the surface of his prosthetic eye, grinning. "You know I can't actually feel it."

"Okay, well I feel it!" Orrelios grimaced and tugged his ears down.

"Big scary warrior you are." Wolffe said, and finished his water. It hit his empty stomach with a vengeance, and he grimaced at the mild nausea.

Kallus startled, looking at the clock on the wall, "I have to report. I—I will see you later, Garazeb."

"Yeah. Sure thing." Orrelios followed him with his eyes. Mooning indeed.

Wolffe looked between the two of them and rolled his eyes.

Orrelios' ears flattened. "What? This is normal behavior, yeah. What kind of asocial freak doesn't say goodbye to his friends?"

"Friends?" Wolffe raised his eyebrows. "I gotta worry about you staring at me like that then?"

"Ah, shove off." Orrelios got to his feet. "I've gotta check on the Ghost. You should get some sleep, mate."

"Yeah, sure."

Rex was out like a light when Wolffe finally gave up on putting off sleep and crawled back to the hangar, and the Ghost. He shucked his armor, leaving it in a pile on the floor, and crawled into bed. He closed his eyes, then sighed, got back out, and racked his armor properly. He stood there for a long time, staring at the sliver of reflection he could see in his helmet's visor. Was this what everyone else saw? An expired clone, slowly going crazy? Rex wasn't like this, was he?

Wolffe put the helmet down, and sat on the edge of his cot, his face in his hands. He didn't cry, but he wanted to. He wanted to want to. He exhaled slowly, rubbing his face with his hands, and settled back under the blankets. He'd forgotten how cold it was in space. Wolffe rubbed the edge of the blanket between his fingers, and wished it was roughspun silk.

"I miss it." He said. Rex's only response was a quiet snore. "I miss him."

"I think I—" he couldn't even think it, why would he be able to say out loud?

Wolffe closed his eyes, and was barely aware if he was dreaming or remembering.

His face hurt, in a more urgent way than it had in a long while. Wolffe opened his eye, and had to squint under the bright medbay lighting.

"You shouldn't blame yourself, Wolffe." That buzzing voice sounded the exact same. 

Wolffe wanted to cry, but instead he said: "I don't, sir."

"Ah, that must be the other clone commander who is leaking self-loathing all over the room."

Wolffe's head snapped up to glare at him. "Did you want something, sir?"

His gaze softened, under the goggles. "Only for you to hurt a little less, Wolffe. I don't mean to mock you."

"Then don't." Ah, the things you could get away with when you were laid up in medical. "Sir."

"Your painkillers aren't working." He observed.

"Maxed out on the drip," Wolffe admitted, "and I don't want narcotics. Or liver damage."

"Hmm." He rumbled, then held a hand out to Wolffe's face. "If I may?"

"Go ahead." Wolffe watched him warily, and felt bad about it. He was just touchy. Raw.

He pressed his hand, curling his fingers around the back of Wolffe's head and letting his thumb sit alongside Wolffe's empty eye socket. The touch lit him up in pain for a moment, then settled.

"That's nice, sir." Wolffe mumbled, trying not to sag into the touch.

"Good." His voice was heavy with amusement. "Although at this point I'm not sure I could make it worse."

Wolffe hummed in agreement. He was tired, but it wasn't the same sort of drunken buzz he got from narcotics. He wasn't in pain every time he blinked or thought too hard; it was no wonder exhaustion was finally catching up.

He caught himself dozing off a few times, always coming around with a jerk before he ended up in his lap.

Wolffe blinked and suppressed a yawn. "Isn't your arm broken, sir?"

Broken? It was missing, wasn't it? Wolffe couldn't turn his head to check.

"Hm?" He josled the datapad stuck in the crook of his sling. "I can manage."

"Here, let me," Wolffe shuffled closer, bumping shoulders with him, and grabbed the datapad, holding it upright. "Is that better?"

He took a long time to respond. "Yes. Thank you."

"Sure, just tell me when to flip the screen." Wolffe's eyes slid shut. They stayed like that for a long while, in a blurry haze of half sleep, Wolffe slowly tapping the screen and trying not to lean too heavily on him. He failed, because eventually they both fell asleep.

"Wolffe."

Wolffe opened his eyes. This… was not the med bay. He rolled over and looked at Rex, then groaned and pulled his threadbare blanket over his head.

"Yeah, don't whine." Rex threw a pair of socks at his head. "Get up, you lazy ass. Miracle the droids didn't win with great Commander Wolffe having all his lie-ins."

"Fuck you." Wolffe finally sat up.

"Brother, you look awful." Rex squinted at him. "How long did they keep you in debrief?"

"Only two hours. Not bad."

"Yeah, but you look like you've been put through the wringer for a week. You getting sick?"

"Dunno. Got an appointment with medical."

"Oh?" Rex sounded casual, but Wolffe was very aware that he could be underhanded when he felt like it.

"Yeah, onboarding stuff. Real riveting."

Rex grimaced. "Word of advice: do not let Dr. Aongayyhr your bend and cough. Damn hands are the size of a Hoth melon. About as cold, too."

"Little Gods, it's a wonder you ever made Captain with that blab mouth of yours." Wolffe grimaced.

"Oh?" Rex raised an eyebrow. "Well I was sure that was why you were Commander. Didn't they engineer the CC series to be rumormongers?"

"You'd like to know." Wolffe gave him a toothy grin and finished getting dressed, doing his best to quell his nerves. He'd been given a data console uplink when he first came onboard, so he took that to the general use data console and logged in. He steadfastly ignored the lengthening queue behind him, and slowly pecked in his access code. There was an overly friendly message from Dr. Sha, informing him that he was free to drop in any time before noon.

Well then. No reason to put it off.

He pulled up a map of the ship on the data console before logging off and letting the irate Twi'lek behind him log in.

Wolffe meandered towards the medical bay. Talking about his feelings was something that he didn't do, and now, it was that or be shuffled off on some planet, away from his remaining brother and anything familiar. Familiar things were fleeting, these days. Sometimes he felt as old as he looked.

He leaned against the wall across from the medical office door until he finally worked up the nerve to knock.

"Enter," Dr. Sha's buzzing voice rasped.

"Hello, Doctor." Wolffe stepped into the small office. It was quaint, or at least quaint for a sterile and obviously repurposed room in a star ship. Dr. Sha had a few plants scattered around, and a false window tacked onto the wall that displayed a tangled forest by a shallow ocean. She noticed him staring.

"Dorin," she said, "I like little reminders of home. Unfortunately, with the Imperial occupation, I can't exactly visit. Please, take a seat."

Wolffe removed the blanket from the chair and draped it over the back before sitting down.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine." Be honest. "A little nervous." He amended.

"Oh? Would you mind telling me why?"

He shrugged. "I don't really know why I'm supposed to be here. And if I fail, I'm getting booted."

"Wolffe, I can assure you that you won't be removed from the Alliance. You can't exactly fail therapy."

"I don't want to end up like Gregor." He clarified.

"One of your brothers?"

Wolffe nodded.

"And he was on some sort of medication?"

"Yeah. He had seizures if he skipped his pills."

"Alright. We don't know what your problem is yet, so I can't say if you should or should not be on medication, but the choice will be yours. Does that alleviate some of your fears?"

Wolffe bit back the automatic denial of his feelings. "Yeah."

"Good." She smiled again. "Now what would you like to talk about?"

"Um."

"Would it help if I gave you a few prompts?"

"Sure." Wolffe shrugged.

"The most concerning thing to me are your hallucinations. That could be a sign of a more serious problem, or even a disease. Unfortunately, we won't be able to tell until we reach the medical frigate over Home-1, which won't be until tomorrow at the earliest. Would you mind going over them again?"

"I told you: it's a Jedi."

"Does the Jedi ever do anything? Do they threaten you, or speak?"

"No. He just stands there." Wolffe glanced off to the side. "He watched me, when I walked over."

"Do you know who this Jedi is, Wolffe?"

Wolffe gritted his teeth and fought the urge to rub his forehead. "The general." He whispered.

Dr. Sha settled back slightly. "The general who commanded your unit?"

She held up a datapad. "I have your debrief on here. I'll be referring back to it."

Wolffe nodded, and finally gave in. He hunched in on himself slightly, resting his chin on his fist. It was a deliberate ploy to hide his mouth, and it was one Dr. Sha seemed to be aware of.

"And this Jedi, it's always your general?"

"Yeah."

"And you contacted the Empire."

"Yeah."

"Would you mind telling me why? Were you concerned that he might attack you?"

"He wouldn't do that." Wolffe said firmly, then sagged. "I, uh. I was there when he died. So I knew it wasn't real. I thought it was some kind of trap, or a trick or something. If somebody wanted to… pretend to be a Jedi, I thought it'd be fitting that they have the Empire called down on them."

"And did that ever happen?"

"No. I think there was an investigation, and they never found anything."

"Alright. And you're sure no one else saw him?"

"Yeah. Rex was up on deck the next time I saw the Jedi and he couldn't see anything. Thought I had too much time in the sun."

Dr. Sha nodded. "Rex is one of your brothers, correct?"

"Yeah. Captain in the 501st."

"Did it bother you that he didn't believe you saw something?"

"No. It was more of a relief that he wasn't actually there." Wolffe realized what he said and felt his chest clench. "That I was sunsick."

"Have you seen the Jedi since leaving Seelos?"

"I stopped seeing him after we met the Spectres. I figured… I figured it was 'cause I saw the real thing."

"Do you?" Dr. Sha leaned forwards.

"Can we talk about something else?'

"Of course." Dr. Sha looked down at her datapad. "I actually have a question to ask you. Now, this will remain confidential between you and me, but I have to ask: Wolffe, have you ever had suicidal thoughts, or have you ever attempted suicide?"

Wolffe couldn't meet her eyes.

Dr. Sha settled back. "You don't have to answer me right now, unless this is an urgent problem."

"This why they took my blaster away?" Wolffe joked humorlessly.

Dr. Sha didn't respond, she just stared at him from behind her goggles. Wolffe sighed.

"I don't—I don't want to answer this. I'm not gonna off myself. You don't need to worry about that."

"Thank you, Wolffe," Dr. Sha said. "I understand you aren't comfortable with me, and don't trust me yet, but I appreciate your effort."

Wolffe looked down. 

"Wolffe, how long were you involved in the Clone War?"

"Three years." Finally, a question he could answer. "Beginning to end. I was part of the first batch of clones, third cohort, so we were the first ones on the ground."

"Would you mind telling me about the war?"

"This is gonna lead around to me not wanting to talk about it, isn't it?" Wolffe dragged his hand down his face. "Haaaa. You want my full record?"

"If that's what you want to tell me, but I think that right now, it would be more useful for you to talk about the events that bothered you."

"I'm not bothered." Wolffe said automatically.

"There were no particularly upsetting events during the Clone War? I recall Umbara being used as propaganda against the Jedi."

"I wasn't on Umbara. Our general kept us to relief missions after," Wolffe cleared his throat, "after Abregado."

"Abregado?"

"Yeah, the system. Separatist weapon that disabled ships hit us pretty bad. The general, myself, and two other clones made it."

"And there were no other survivors?"

Wolffe shook his head.

"Would you mind telling me your feelings about that?"

"What feelings are there to have? It happened, and it's over."

"Are you over it?"

Wolffe exhaled. "Look, I thought we were gonna die. The GAR doesn't look for clones. We were lucky enough to be in the same escape pod as a Jedi. He… he said they would come looking for us, but they meant they would come looking for him." Wolffe paused. "Maybe he didn't. Maybe he really thought that we mattered to the rest of the GAR as much as we did to him. Whatever. The fact is that we lived. It's fine."

"It doesn't sound fine. How did you feel when you thought the Republic wasn't coming for you?"

Wolffe rolled his eyes. "Betrayed; is that what you want me to say? I don't know. Clones are engineered to be expendable. If I died there I would have been replaced. It's pretty simple, actually."

Dr. Sha closed her eyes. "Wolffe, if you'll indulge me?"

"I'm already doing that."

"Well. Can you imagine for me how one of your brothers might've felt about your death? Or the Jedi?"

"All the clones I was close with were at Abregado."

"And your general?"

"Can I go now?"

Dr. Sha leaned back. "If you like. I'm not going to keep you here, but it's clear to me that you don't think you need to be here."

Wolffe threw his hands in the air. "I don't. I know this… everything would have screwed up a natborn, but it's impossible for a Kamino clone to get shellshock, or depression, or anxiety, or whatever else it is you can get. Whatever you think is happening to me, it's not in my head."

Dr. Sha nodded slowly. "Alright. I'll have you undergo a full workup. It's a very real possibility that there's something physically wrong with you, and it's manifesting as psychological disturbances. Still," she pressed, "I'd like you to continue attending therapy."

"Is this conditional?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Fine." Wolffe bit out. "Fine."

"Good." She smiled. "I believe we've gotten as far as we can in today's session, unless you have something else you'd like to say?"

He did not. "Actually… could I get a copy of my combat records?"

"Of course. May I ask why?"

Throw her a bone. "I wanna read them over. See if I feel any different now than I did then."

"An excellent idea." She eyed him. "But I wonder how seriously you are actually taking this."

"I want to join the Rebellion." Wolffe pressed a hand to his chest. "The Empire killed me and all the people who matter to me."

Dr. Sha watched him, wide-eyed. "Could you say that again?'

"The Empire killed all the people who matter to me?" Wolffe repeated, then amended. "Well, Rex is alive."

"And that's exactly what you said?"

"Yeah." Maybe the doctor needed a doctor.

"Alright. Thank you for your time today, Wolffe." She handed him a datachit. "These are the notes I took today, along with the access codes for Clone Wars military records. You'll have to go to the Intelligence data terminal to read the information."

"Thanks. Have, um, have a good day."

"Thank you, Wolffe."

Wolffe, huh? That was his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still Wednesday!


	3. That's the way that it goes

Wolffe planned to go straight to the Intelligence division, but like most of his plans, it quickly went awry.

"Wolffe!" 

He turned, and saw Syndulla doing her best shuffling jog towards him. He met her halfway, before she did something stupid like break into a full sprint.

"General." Wolffe saluted.

"Oh, not you too." Syndulla waved it off, her other hand automatically coming up to rest on her stomach. She looked at him, then looked at the direction he'd come from.

"Are you alright?"

"Just a routine check up." Wolffe lied. "Rex warned me about Dr. Aongayyhr, but I didn't take him seriously enough." He would actually have to get a pretty thorough examination done on the medical frigate. Maybe it was best to stop joking about prostate exams, before the Little Gods noticed and handed him off to a Chistori.

"Sure." Syndulla said, her confusion obvious in her face, if not her tone.

"Yeah. You go fifteen years without having a doctor look at you and everyone gets nervous. How are you?"

Syndulla scowled. "They stuck me on light duty. I'm only four months in; you can barely tell."

You couldn't tell at all, actually, except for the way she kept cradling her abdomen.

"Sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, well," Syndulla began walking toward the hangar, "they tell me my blood pressure is too high. Stress and all."

"You should eat less salt."

"I'm going to give you a pass, because you've lived in a Republic walker in the middle of the desert for the last decade, but please stop giving me diet advice." Syndulla pressed her hand against her head. "I'm up to my lekku in busybodies telling me to eat," she waved her hand in the air, "mass powder and jojoolie berries."

Wolffe snorted. "I have been around pregnant women before."

"Then you should know better." Syndulla leveled a glare at him.

"We didn't exactly do much talking, considering she was giving birth, but I'll take your advice into consideration."

"Alright, this is a story I want to hear." They reached the commissary, and Syndulla grabbed herself a mug of mint tea (to quell her nausea, she said, but her tone made Wolffe think he was being mocked). Wolffe considered caf, but the thought of it made his stomach turn. He wanted… he sniffed the air. Yeah, he wanted that.

He followed his nose and found a pot of really awful smelling tea. He poured himself a mug and tried it. It was as disgusting as it seemed, but Wolffe drank it anyway.

"Okay, childbirth." Syndulla said, curling her nose at his drink of choice.

"Right. Ah, we were on Byss, during the Separatist siege. A city had been caught in the crossfire, so the 104th was assigned to relocate the refugees to the south, away from the fighting. It was your typical mess," he waved a hand demonstratively, "and we ended up getting separated from the rest of the 104th when the shuttle had a malfunction.

"There were about ten refugees on the transport with us. It really wasn't a big deal; just hold tight and wait for replacement parts and a new transport arrived, except one of the women was extremely pregnant. I guess the stress of it all made her go into labor." Wolffe shook his head. "It was awful. Eight kids, a grandad, and her. Then there were us: six clones and an alien. Kel Dor lay eggs," he clarified.

"Was she alright?"

"Oh, she was fine; it was her third child. Commander Wolffe wasn't though, especially when I made him catch the baby." He chuckled.

Syndulla gave him an odd glance. "Commander Wolffe?"

"Yes." Wolffe looked at her.

"You said you made Commander Wolffe hold the baby. You are Commander Wolffe."

Wolffe wrinkled his brow. "I didn't say that. I said I caught the baby. Terrified I was going to drop it. Tiny thing."

"I must have misheard you." Syndulla said, obviously not convinced.

"It's been a long day?" He offered.

"It sure has." Syndulla looked down at her mug, then smiled "I think I have a name picked out."

"Oh?"

"Jacen, for a boy. And Tislera for a girl, after my mother."

"Jacen is a human name." Wolffe observed.

"It might be."

"Just like the father might be?"

"Cram it." Syndulla said, without much heat. She leaned in and whispered next to his ear. "I'm not going to let this taint his name while I can still be courtsmartialed for it."

"I get it."

She leaned back, smiling. "Maybe I'll start telling people it's your kid."

Wolffe snorted. "Good luck with that. Nobody will believe you if they know anything about clones."

"No one will believe that we overcame all odds to be together?" Syndulla batted her eyes. "I'm already a twi'lek with a human baby, what's a little sterility compared to that?"

"If I get pulled in for fraternization, it's on you."

"No problem there: I'm not your boss."

"Obviously it was intentional." Wolffe gestured. "You kept me on Seelos so there wouldn't be any conflicts."

"Well, they do say pilots have one in every spaceport."

Wolffe snorted. "Seelos barely had a landing pad."

"I'm not picky." She huffed a laugh and sobered. "Are you alright, Wolffe?"

"Yeah. Why would I not be?"

"It's a big change, joining the Rebellion, and I'm not the only person who's lost someone."

Wolffe looked at his lap. "Gregor was… he wasn't happy, fighting. All he really wanted to do was go back to being a short order cook. I don't know if I'm supposed to be happy that he doesn't have to kill people anymore or angry that we made him do it in the first place. I'm processing." He took a sip of his tea and grimaced. It was even worse cold. "There's too much happening to dwell on it right now."

He eyed Syndulla. "You'd know about that, wouldn't you?"

Syndulla crossed her arms and rested her chin in the crook of her elbow. "I want to think I'm… processed, but I keep waiting to crack. I wonder if that means I don't love him as much as I thought."

"Don't say that."

"Have you ever been in love?" Syndulla picked at a loose thread on her cuff.

Wolffe didn't respond for a long time. "No."

"Took an awful long time to come up with that."

"Was grappling with my devastating lust for General Dodanna, but I realized that we can never truly be together." His tone darkened as he spoke, and the joke came off serious enough that Syndulla took a second to parse that he was kidding.

"It's nice." Syndulla said. "Maybe."

"Maybe," he agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: Fraternization. I figure the Rebellion would be sort of strict about this sort of thing, given that its exemplary of the corruption and nepotism plaguing the Empire (there are only so many stormtroopers Tarkin can go through before the upper ranks are populated with nothing but himbos). Hera was Kanan's boss in the eyes of the Rebellion, so I don't think they'd be too happy with them having been in a relationship.


	4. Wisdom of the Fool

Docking in a ship cluster was always an exciting event. It was much more enjoyable when you didn't have to look over the shoulder of a nervous pilot so he didn't fuck up and send them crashing into the bridge. At least the fiery ball of death would look nice from Yavin 4.

Rex let out a low whistle. "So, this is the Rebel fleet?"

It was impressive for a ragtag alliance, but Wolffe commanded a warship all on his lonesome.

He blinked. No he didn't. He served under a Jedi General.

He brushed the errant thought aside. He wasn't sleeping well. Stress of something lurking in his grey matter and all.

"They've got X-Wings." Wolffe observed, watching the fighters run drills in the upper atmosphere.

Rex clucked and shook his head. "General Skywalker would've loved these."

"How can you talk about him so candidly?"

Rex gave him an odd look. "Wasn't like I killed him. Probably the Emperor's guards that did him in. He was always Palpatine's favorite. No wonder the old man declared him a hero."

Better an Imperial hero than a murder-suicide of children. Maybe that was why Rex seemed alright. Or maybe he didn't care as much, but that was ungenerous. Maybe he didn't care in the same way.

"You alright, brother?"

"I'm fine. Tired."

Rex watched him. This was the problem with an army of clones; they could read each other like holopads. "You sure they didn't find anything at medical?"

Wolffe exhaled. "Maybe. Don't worry about it. Paranoid doctors."

That mollified Rex slightly. "Trying to hide injuries like a shiney, Commander? Bad example to set for the new troops."

"Blow off." He wouldn't be setting any examples for anyone, not until the shrink got over her preconceived notions about the differences between clones and natborns and decided his head was screwed on right. Maybe… "Hey, Rex."

"Yeah?"

"Those Stormtroopers on Lothal, think they're holding up as well as clones did?"

"Not a chance." Rex chuckled. "They can barely aim a blaster."

"Heh, yeah. The ones the Rebels captured seemed pretty fractured. You ever see a clone crack like that?"

Rex shrugged. "Once, maybe. You get the guys who get smacked on the head one too many times, sure, but cracking under combat stress? Ah," he rubbed his beard, "an ARC, once, and I'm not convinced Fives wasn't drugged on Kamino."

Everyone knew who Fives was. You didn't try and kill the Chancellor and not have it be the only thing on everyone's lips for a month. Wolffe didn't know him personally, but he was sure wherever Fives was marching, he was marching very smugly, having been proved right. Or maybe he wasn't; the death of your beloved COs wasn't exactly bragging territory.

Beloved. Wolffe scoffed.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You're awful jumpy, brother. I'm starting to think this might be more serious than paranoid doctors."

Wolffe waved him off. "Leave it, Rex. I haven't been sleeping well."

Rex looked at him, then sighed, rubbing a hand over his head. "Look, Wolffe, if you ever want to… talk. About feelings, or whatever. Then you know I'll listen, right?"

"I'm not gonna talk about my feelings with you, Captain." Wolffe scoffed. "What is this, cadet playtime?"

"Don't be bitter." Rex snapped at him. "I'm trying to help. Just because you're miserable all the time doesn't mean I have to take it."

He turned and left the room, which was an improvement for Rex. A year ago, he probably would have just punched Wolffe, not that he didn't deserve it.

Wolffe exhaled through his nose, and got directions to the medical dock.

For a big operation like this, they slaved the ships to a single computer, and converted the external hangar into a giant walkway. Wolffe joined the dozens of rebels queuing for the medical frigate, a Nebulon B escort called the _Last Hope_. A good number of them were visibly injured—missing limbs, limps, etcetera, but there were a handful like Wolffe, all jumpy and jittery. He held himself together better.

He wordlessly held up his new ID chit for the security officer to scan, then stepped onto the medical frigate. It was similar to the GAR medical stations, which he was acquainted with due to Ventress, but it was mobile, something necessary for an illegal Rebellion being hunted down by an evil space wizard.

This was technically a floating hospital, so Wolffe was surprised that there weren't any maps or guides to the wards. Even the Republic hospital stations had maps on display, but again, evil space wizard. If someone who wasn't supposed to be on the ship found a public access ward directory, they could do some serious damage to people who could do nothing about it. Undoubtedly this place had a long term care facility. To just let the lingering cases die would be against the Rebellion's coda.

He flagged down a passing droid and got directions to screening.

Wolffe was, surprisingly, the only one waiting. Either the other rebels knew enough about what was wrong with them to go elsewhere, or he was here early.

A pair of bickering droids settled him for a round of general scans, then drained what felt like half of his blood out for testing. Wolffe winced, and dug his thumb into the crook of his elbow.

"Don't like needles?" A young human smiled gently at him.

"Not really, but that's a good thing, right, Doctor?

"Right." The human laughed. "But I'm not a doctor, not yet, anyways, this is my last rotation before my boards. You can call me Kaeden."

She held out her hand, and Wolffe gently shook it. Kaeden was no shrinking daisy, and her shoulders were probably broader than his own, but she had an air of delicacy about her.

"Wolffe. CC-3636."

"Wolffe. It's nice to meet you, but I wish it was under different circumstances. Dr. Sha sent me your file. Unfortunately, it looks like you're going to spend most of the day getting brain scans."

Wolffe stifled a groan. "That's what I was afraid of."

"Normally people are afraid of what happens after the scans." She settled against her workstation and crossed her legs. "Now, before we begin, are there any questions I can answer for you?"

He shrugged. "Not really." He looked down. "Actually… what kind of diseases make you see things?"

"Plenty." Wolffe was beginning to appreciate her nonchalant approach. "There are several mental illnesses, like schizoaffective disorders, that can cause a person to see or hear things, but even something as mundane as dehydration or fatigue can cause you to hallucinate." She ticked off on her fingers. "Brain tumors, migraines, meningitis. Eye diseases can cause visual hallucinations, and ear diseases can cause auditory hallucinations. High fevers can alter your perception of things."

She cleared her throat. "Of course, there are non pathological explanations. The Jedi often experienced Force visions, and some species can project telepathically."

"How do you know the difference?" Wolffe asked. "What if a Jedi also has schizophrenia?"

Kaeden tapped her chin. "Tricky question, but I guess another Force-user would be able to tell. Unfortunately, the techniques of the Jedi healers are lost to us because of—" Her eyes widened. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up something painful."

Wolffe's mouth twitched downwards. "It's fine."

"Ah, well." She coughed. "Why don't we get your tests started?"

It was worse than losing his eye. It was worse than the month of PT after losing his eye. Three solid hours of lying still on a metal cot and twisting his head until his neck popped.

"I wish I was being tortured by Separatists." He said once Kaeden let him sit up.

"Two more scans to go," Kaeden said, adjusting the settings,"and then a few more miscellaneous tests. Routine stuff."

Wolffe grimaced. "You aren't gonna make me get a prostate exam, are you?"

Kaeden snorted. "You're what, thirty?" She waved at him. "I know you look older, but those aren't routine until you hit fifty. No worries; it's not on your list today."

Wolffe exhaled. "I knew Rex was fucking with me."

Kaeden brightened. "Rex? Captain Rex the clone?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Then you must know Ahsoka too!" Kaeden clasped her hands in front of her chest. "Is she here?"

Wolffe blinked. "I don't think… I should answer that question."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you should talk to Rex." Wolffe said resolutely.

Kaeden stilled. "That's bad news, isn't it?"

He looked down. "Sorry."

"I keep forgetting we're in the middle of a war." She said absently, changing the film and repositioning the machine around Wolffe's head. "Everything seems so routine, once you get used to it."

"Can I talk?"

"If you can do it without moving your head."

"Sure. Why don't I tell you about our relief mission to Aleen?"

* * *

"So, the droids are somehow on Grevious' ship, don't ask me how, I've never been able to figure it out, and General Plo gets all smug and foists them off on me." Wolffe pressed his fingers to his chest. "Little Gods, what did he say… 'oh, I'm sure Commander Wolffe would love to hear about it'. I was pinned down for three hours listening to this fussy protocol droid ramble about his wild adventure."

Kaeden laughed. "I'm sure it must have been agonizing."

"You've never had your ear talked off by a droid." He wagged his finger at her, careful to keep the rest of his body still.

"You see who I work with?" She gestured to the medical droids.

"Bah."

"I don't think I've ever met another Kel Dor." Kaeden said suddenly. "Aside from Dr. Sha, of course. And—" she cut herself off. "Well. Aside from Dr. Sha."

Interesting. "They're uncommon in the galaxy at large. Most of the rest of us breathe oxygen, so it's pretty inconvenient to deal with a mask just to go somewhere for fun. Kel Dor oxygen exposure is not pretty."

"Hemorrhaging, right?"

Wolffe nodded. "General Plo got his mask knocked off in a fight once. Near gave our medic a stroke."

"I don't blame him." Kaeden finished copying his scans onto a data chit. "Alright. You're done here. You can wait in the adjacent room, or you can wander around the ship if you promise not to get into much trouble. Just be back here in twenty minutes when I'm finished looking through these."

"I—"

"Oh, here." She pulled a datachit out of her pocket. "These are some of my old studytapes. There should be a console over there if you'd like to read them."

"Why would I want that?"

"I personally find it reassuring to read through everything that might be wrong with me before I get my results. That way I already m ow the worse case scenario."

"That's… comforting."

"Don't worry, nobody else thinks so either." She left for her office, or whatever room it was where they peered into his brain, leaving him with the droids for company. Wolffe tossed the datachit in his hand and headed for the public access console.

He inserted the chit and leaned against the console, waiting for it to turn on. Poor kid.

Maybe it was a Jedi thing, or maybe it was more personal, but it was like they couldn't help jamming themselves into your life, and leaving an undermining hole when they left. You didn't realize how deep it was until you noticed all the little things.

Wolffe grimaced, and shook himself out of his self pity. Instead of reading about all the horrible things that might be happening to him, he found the access code for battle records from the Clone War and brought up his storied military career.

He skipped Geonosis and most of the early campaign, and went straight to Abagrado. He scanned through it. The ship, losing power, the escape craft, fine, fine, fine, except… Wolffe reread his report.

_I remained in the pod while General Plo Koon, CT-4568, and CT-2210 exited the pod to engage the droid attackers in combat._

That was… incorrect. He left the pod. He had distinct memories of the empty expanse of space around him, the bitter cold of it on his skin, and how dull and heavy his mask felt. But that was also wrong. He was a deck officer on the _Triumphant_ ; he would have been in his greys. Unless he grabbed his armor before jettisoning, but then why hadn't he mentioned that in his report? Why hasn't he said that he left the pod?

Disturbed, Wolffe selected another report, this time a minor battle on Ossus. Low risk, good publicity. It was what drove the General to his preoccupation with relief missions. After losing the entire 104th (bar three), he was understandably leery about heavy combat missions. It was very simple: overtake a minor droid production facility. Along the way, they ran into a horde of displaced residents, and returned them to their homes. It hurt, how unbelievably grateful they were for something that didn't even deserve thanks in it's obvious necessity.

But he didn't know that, did he? They were a little standoffish, weren't they?

He… knew they were overwhelmingly grateful, but Wolffe hadn't. He had to explain afterwards that…

Wolffe stilled. He knew, but he didn't? That didn't make any sense. How could he have gotten everything so wrong in his reports? Had they been changed after he deserted? It made no sense to do that, but since when did the Empire ever make sense?

He exited the files and leaned against the wall beside the console. Maybe there really was something wrong with him. Tumors could cause memory problems, couldn't they?

"Wolffe?"

He startled, straightening off the wall and twisting to look at Kaeden. She looked twice as old as before, all in the eyes, which were red and puffy. Wolffe swallowed a grimace.

"Ah, yes?"

Kaeden cleared her throat. "I've finished looking over your scans. If you would come with me?"

Wolffe followed her to her office.

"I've taken the liberty of calling Dr. Sha. Your situation seems… novel, for a human, and I wanted an expert."

"What, am I gonna make medical history or something?"

Kaeden waved him to a seat, then opened the holo for Dr. Sha.

"Wolffe." She smiled at him. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Nervous." Maybe now wasn't the best time to bring up the fact that all of his military reports had been changed.

"Well," Kaeden brought up one of his scans, and gestured to a small, slightly darker blob with a light pen. "Why don't we begin? This is your Oorreclual scan. It's not routine for humans, but it is for Draethos, Iktotchi, and Quermian, among other species. In them, it's used to diagnose problems with the Oorreclual gland, which regulates telepathy."

Wolffe stared at her. "You're saying I've developed telepathy?"

"Not quite." Dr. Sha chimed in. "Humans don't have telepathy outside of the Force, and unfortunately, we can't test your midichlorians without the Empire being alerted."

"You mean the test," Wolffe waved his hand in the air, "results aren't loaded into a secured system?"

"They are," Kaeden fiddled on her computer for another file, "but the supplies used to perform the test—the anti-midichlorian antibodies, are manufactured exclusively by the Empire. You can't buy them unless you're an Inquisitor. Sha, I've received your file."

"Good." Another brain scan sprang to life. "Where was I? Ah, the Force. I don't think this is the cause. If you were Force sensitive, surrounded by Jedi for three years, someone would have noticed. Now, what you're looking at is a brain scan of mine. You'll notice the poorly defined Oorrecual gland," she pointed out a blob. "Kel Dor are also commonly natural telepaths, however, I'm not. This was from several years ago, when I spent a period of time feeling very unlike myself. The source of my infection was contact with a member of the Sarlacc species, which formed an unintentional psychic impression on me, and caused me to develop abnormal behavior. Now this…"

Dr. Sha's voice faded out. Wolffe blinked. In the corner of her brain scan, in clear auburesh, was Dr. Sha's full name: Sha Koon.

"...fortunately it's a very easy treatment. You won't have to get surgery, but I still recommend you have your disabled control chip removed. I can give you a prescription now, and you can have it filled at the pharmacy. Of course, I would still like you to attend therapy, to ensure that there are no residual effects." She smiled. "I suppose you were right: your shellshock seems to be someone else's. I'm sorry it didn't occur to me sooner, but humans typically lack psychic abilities. If we were in the Republic, you'd make a medical journal."

"Wolffe?" Kaeden touched his arm lightly. "Are you alright?"

"It's," He hoped he did sound as strangled to them as he did to himself, "a lot to take in."

"I understand," Dr.Sha (Sha Koon!) said. "It was upsetting for me as well."

"I think," Wolffe stood up, only barely catching his chair before he knocked it to the floor, "I think I need to think about this. Excuse me."

He left the office. It wasn't fleeing, but that was only because he wasn't admitting to it.

Sha Koon. She was… what? Humans had the same surname all the time; it didn't mean they were related. But somehow he knew: this was General Plo's niece. She was his sister's daughter, the sister he hadn't met until he was an adult. He returned to Kel Dor for the first time since his childhood and felt alienated the entire time he was there. It felt unnatural not to wear his mask, but he ignored his discomfort until his little niece found a spare antiox mask to wear alongside him in solidarity.

Sha Koon liked chasing dragonbeetles and sparring with her Baran Do father, and was enamoured of her mysterious uncle from distant Coruscant, and somehow Wolffe knew all of this.

He knew General Plo decided not to take her back to the temple, and that she was heartbroken because of it.

He found the nearest refresher and locked the door, sitting heavily on the commode and trying to make his brain work again.

He was going insane, wasn't he? Little Gods, even breathing hurt. Wasn't he supposed to be wearing a mask?

Calm down, soldier. Wolffe forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply until he didn't feel like he was about to swoon into the sink. Come on; be rational.

Alright, first problem: apparently he was… mind infected by a mysterious baby sarlacc, lurking around on Seelos. This was not an unknown problem, but rare enough in humans that Dr. Sha and Kaeden were probably fistfighting over who got to write the case study. He could fix it, easily, with some sort of anti-parasitic medication.

Second problem: he was going completely crazy. General Plo didn't talk about his family; he didn't have family, not the way other people thought about it. He had genetic relations that he spoke to, and was fond of, but he was a good Jedi, and good Jedi didn't have families. It was a roundabout way of Wolffe being certain that General Plo was not the one who told him about Dr. Sha and her childhood love of eating bugs.

The two things seemed related. It made sense for them to be related, but Wolffe couldn't fathom why or how.

It was a problem, and he didn't even know how to think about finding the solution. Wolffe let his head drop back against the wall. He missed Plo Koon.


	5. There's no sense in telling me

"General, may I speak with you?"

"Of course, Wolffe. How can I help you?"

"Privately, sir." he jerked his head over to the relative privacy of the command tent.

"Is something the matter?" He followed him, slowly, to make the difference of his shorter legs.

"I…" He started, then stopped, his eyes dropping to the helmet in his hands. "I want to apologize, in advance. But… but this is something you deserve to know."

He rubbed the back of his head. His hair was getting long enough to curl; he'd have to trim it soon. "I love you." he said firmly. "I am in love with you. I know I'm making your life harder, sir, but you deserve my honesty."

"Ah." he was silent, for a long time.

"Do you want me to go?"

"Are you aware of the vows a Jedi Knight takes?"

"Marginally."

"Mercy, humility, service," He counted them out on his fingers, his ceremonial cap glinting in the low light, "and celibacy."

"I understand." He made to put his helmet back on.

"Please, wait."

He stilled, but didn't turn back.

"If I could…"

"You can't. I understand."

"Other people break their vows."

"Other people aren't you. I wouldn't feel this way if you were like them." He glanced down. "I wish I didn't, sir. I'm sorry."

"Please don't apologise."

"Haaaa," he ran his hand back through his hair, "I shouldn't have told you. You deserve it, but I shouldn't have told you."

"I deserve it?"

He shrugged. "Truth hurts." He opened his mouth a few times, trying to work the words out. "Would you leave? For me?"

"No. Not now." He hummed quietly. "Not yet. I want to say yes, but I don't want to lie to you."

"A lie would be worse, sir."

"You're too pragmatic, Wolffe." He smiled, just slightly. "Too serious."

"It's how I was made."

"There's no room for whimsy in that head of yours. You told me about your feelings because you knew I'd tell you no."

"That a Jedi mind trick?"

"I just know you too well." He drummed his fingers against his stomach. "I could return your feelings. I might. I have the capability. The desire. But I wouldn't."

He hissed. "That stings, sir."

"You wouldn't know what to do if I said yes."

"No. Fucked up relationship, huh? Pardon the language." He held out his hand. "I don't want to feel this way, but I don't know how to stop."

He took it. "That's alright."

Wolffe opened his eyes.

"You sure you're alright, brother?" Rex was still frosty with him, but concern clearly outweighed his sore feelings.

"Fine." He sat on the edge of his cot and watched Rex go through his exercises. Wolffe should probably be doing those too, but just remaining vertical was making him lightheaded. "Fine."

"The doctors didn't find anything?"

Wolffe shrugged. "Nothing serious. I have medicine."

"I haven't seen you take it." He hadn't been.

"You follow me around all day?" Wolffe frowned. "Sorry. I've been testy. I don't mean to take it out on you."

"You're sick. I'll beat the shit out of you once you're healed up."

"Looking forward to it, brother. Fuck you for scaring me with that bend and cough talk."

Rex laughed. "Ah, but you fell for it."

"Yeah, yeah." Wolffe waved, and then had to keep very still. A little physic houseguest would give him vertigo, would it? Perhaps he was a little tired. A little disturbed by his dream.

Wolffe blinked slowly. It was a pathetic romantic fantasy, but it wasn't his pathetic romantic fantasy.

He would never be that calm. He would have nagged and whined and made an idiot of himself trying to wear down defenses that couldn't be broken. It was why he never said anything.

No, in his stupid idle daydreams, the General recripticoated. Of course, it wasn't always like that.

After Abregado, it was really just that echo of a sentence, half heard over Boost's open comm: _not to me_. He'd let his self-loathing run wild, and soothe it with words that were never even spoken to him. It was more physical after Khorm. Little touches, General Plo didn't notice because he didn't reciprocate, obviously, but Wolffe did. It was the scrape of his scruff on the General's roughspun clothing, the errant prick of his claw cap. Stupid, tiny things that heated him out of his skin. The fantasy got fuzzy after that; Kel Dor and humans weren't physically compatible, but the spirit of it lingered.

It was embarrassing, Wolffe was pathetic, and Plo Koon could read minds if he felt like it. Wolffe gave up on his feelings.

After Cato Nemodia, it felt wrong to think of anything like that. Jacking it to the memory of a dead man was sick. Luckily that sort of thing wasn't accidental these days. He was old enough that it had to be a scheduled event.

Wolffe grimaced at himself and hopped out of his bunk, landing gracelessly but steadily. It was a little striking how quickly he'd deteriorated. Mostly, it made him wish he was a little younger, physically.

"Hey. Was," Wolffe cleared his throat, "was there ever a list of the Jedi who survived?"

"What do you mean?" Rex watched him.

"What I said. I know about Tano, and Jarrus, but did anyone else make it?"

Rex shrugged. "The official docs say everyone was KIA, but we both know that's not the case. I guess they have internal dossiers on who they managed to confirm dead."

"Oh. I thought the Rebellion might…"

Rex bristled, but kept quiet. "Don't think so. Seems like a security risk."

"Yeah."

"You sure you're alright?"

"I'm sure." He lied. Rex could tell, because they were the same person, under all the trappings, but didn't call him on it.

"Whatever you say. C'mon, let's play a little target practice at the range."

"We both know you're a better shot than me."

"Ah, lemme prove it one more time. Maybe you'll be lucky."

"I'd like to remind you that I am missing an eye." Wolffe followed him down to the shooting range.

"Oh, poor old crippled Wolffe. Missing his whole eye. How does he manage?"

"Better than missing my brain, like you, brother."

Wolffe regretted the joke the second he said it, but Rex laughed and clapped his shoulder, oblivious. He could feel their dynamic shift back to normalcy, or whatever passed for that these days.

"See you at the range."

"Right." Wolffe didn't bother telling him that he still wasn't clear to get his gun back. He juggled excuses while he walked through the Ghost, ignoring the looming sense of dread overwhelming him as he made his way to the cockpit. His face felt hot. his arm hurt.

"General!" He shouted. There was a thump and a clanking noise.

"Wolffe! I'm in the subhold! Give me a hand."

Wolffe stared at the cockpit. He was sweating, and twitching, and he could tell he was breathing too fast.

"Wolffe?" Syndulla touched his arm. Wolffe flinched.

"Hey, General." He gave Syndulla a wide berth. "Little Gods, you look ready to pop. You're sure that baby isn't overcooked?"

"That's a nice image, Commander." She looked at him. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. A little hungry." Hunger didn't give you shellshock, but it did give him an excuse to get out of the ship before he curled up into a ball and started hyperventilating.

"I'm supposed to be taking breaks." He appreciated the excuse. Syndulla led him down to the mess. It was empty, which was good, because she was still suffering from vomiting six and a half months in, and also because Wolffe was getting funny looks for his diet choices.

"I'm serious. You look like you're smuggling a puffer pig."

"Yep. It's only going to get worse from here on out." She looked at him and sighed through her nose. "Wolffe, I don't want to be rude, and I assume that you haven't talked about it because you don't want to, but I saw you leaving the psychiatric hall the other day after my appointment. Do you want to…" she waved her hand, sitting in their usual spot, "talk about it, or…?"

"No."

"Oh, thank goodness." She exhaled, slumping. "I'm terrible at talks. Whatever it is, I hope you're getting the help you need."

"It's not—I'm not crazy." Wolffe sat across from her. "They say I've got some sort of parasite."

Syndulla raised a brow. "That makes two of us, but at least I get to name mine."

"Yeah. But I bet yours doesn't give you someone else's nightmares." Wolffe looked away. "I'm not gonna burden you with this."

"Sure. It's not a burden. Kanan," her voice still went a little soft when she said his name, "he felt things like that, through the Force. It was rough on him."

"Could you ever… feel him?"

She leaned forwards. "Wolffe. I'm pregnant with his baby. I understand if you're a little fuzzy on the process, but it involves some level of feeling."

"Classy. But that's not what I meant. Could you," he waved a hand, "feel him in your head. Like your thoughts were mushing together. Like somebody talking just outside of hearing, and you can only pick up their tone, but it's inside your head."

Syndulla shook her head mutely.

"Ignore me." Wolffe dropped his hand back to the table. "I'm talking nonsense."

"This isn't about Kanan, is it?" Syndulla guessed. "And isn't about your parasite either."

Wolffe shook his head. "Not really."

Syndulla leaned back a little. "I always thought," she began in a nonsequiteur, "that Jedi were like Nubian monks."

"They are." Wolffe confirmed. The words from his dream tumbled around in his head until they came out of his mouth. "Mercy, humility, celibacy, and service. And something to do with the Force, but that's all mental. Y'know, metaphysical stuff."

"Right. So you can imagine how surprised I was with Kanan."

Wolffe shrugged. "Some people break vows."

"Who did you want to break them, Wolffe?" It was a question, but she didn't say it like one. She watched him, green eyes clear and flat.

He let out a shaky exhale. "Please don't ask me that."


	6. I feel fine and I feel good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning for discussion of suicidal ideations.

"Therapy only works if you let it, Wolffe."

"But I don't need it, so there's no reason." Wolffe glanced at Dr. Sha—Dr. Koon—, then resumed staring blankly at the chrono, sitting ramrod straight in his plush chair and waiting for the hour to go by.

"How are you feeling, Wolffe? Have the incidents of physic leakage become less frequent?"

"I feel more like myself." Wolffe lied. He barely felt human anymore. He couldn't even stand to look at himself in the mirror in the 'fresher. His face didn't feel like his face. It was too soft, too pliable—he was too soft and pliable.

"That's good to hear." Dr. Sha said neutrally, a pleasant expression on her face. "You should only have a few days left on your prescription."

"Yeah." Wolffe took the bottle out of his pocket and rattled it, displaying the pills. Three more days of stuffing them into the ripped lining of his mattress. He considered flushing them, but water was conserved and recycled shipwide, and there was no telling what strange human medication might do to the alien denizens of the Rebellion.

"Excellent. Once you finish your course, I'm reasonably confident in clearing you to officially join the Rebellion."

Wolffe straightened. "That—that's great."

"My only reservation would be what you mentioned to me in one of our earlier sessions."

"Ah?"

"I broached the topic of suicide, and you were reluctant to give me an answer."

"Ah." Wolffe sagged slightly, not meeting her eyes. "I'm still… reluctant about it."

"Please don't interpret this as an ultimatum: I can't clear you until we discuss this." She looked at him, her head slightly tilted. "You know that whatever you tell me is in confidence. I can't tell anyone else, and I won't judge you for anything you say."

"I'll judge me for what I say." Wolffe muttered darkly. The glittering lure of finally being useful again glinted before him. "I put a blaster in my mouth, after I… came back to being me, again."

Dr. Sha nodded slowly. "It's an understandable reaction. You were forced to attack people you cared for. Tell me what you were feeling."

"Guilt." Wolffe bit out. "I was angry: at me, at the cloners, at Palpatine." He let out a sharp huff of laughter. "I was mad at the engineers who designed the comm system in our helmets. If they didn't work so well, I wouldn't have…" he cleared his throat. "Um, sad."

"You lost a friend."

"I lost my brothers. I hated them all for what they did. What I did. I wanted to go and kill them all for it, but I, uh. Rex didn't have a ship on purpose."

He coughed again. "I, um. I waited for Rex and Gregor to go to sleep, and I found his blaster—the safe code was his batch number—and I put the business end in my mouth." Wolffe demonstrated the angle. "Towards the back of my head, not up. I guess I was vain, and I didn't want Gregor to have to see my face blown off." He was also less likely to survive, but he didn't mention that. Honestly, that far from medical care, he wouldn't have survived even if he sneezed pulling the trigger and the shot hit his ear or something, but it was more reassuring to be sure.

"But you didn't pull the trigger."

Wolffe shook his head.

"What stopped you?"

He shrugged, silent. Dr. Sha watched him.

"I guess." He sniffed once, and ignored the handkerchief Dr. Sha held out to him. "I guess I didn't feel guilty enough. I wasn't. Uh. I wasn't sad enough. I didn't miss h—" Wolffe shut himself up and stared resolutely at Dr. Sha's faux window, ignoring his stinging eyes.

Dr. Sha tilted her head. "Could you tell me about your Jedi General?"

"He's your uncle. You know enough about him."

She blinked slowly. "I see you're dropping the pretense. That's good. That's progress. May I ask how you discovered our relationship?"

"Last name, on the brain scan. He talked about you." Half truth, half lie.

"I hated him, for a while, when he didn't take me to become a Jedi. I suppose I ought to be grateful for it. I can't help but think that he had some idea of what was going to happen." Dr. Sha smiled, but it didn't reach the rest of her face. "Would you like to talk about him?"

"No." He could sit in silence for the remainder of his hour.

"Very well." Dr. Sha took the hint and began filling out a form on her datapad—probably something to keep him wandering around the dual docked ships like a balding ghost instead of doing something useful.

"I'm not going to try again." He said faintly.

"Oh?"

"I don't want to die. I just…"

"You thought you needed to?"

"Yeah."

"And has that need subsided?"

"My hour's up, Doctor." Wolffe stood without her leave, and quietly slipped out of the room. His eyes stung. No tears—he hadn't cried since he was a cadet, but he was red, and watery, and his throat was tighter than usual.

He almost made it out of the medical frigate before he ran into Kaeden.

"Hi, Wolffe!" She said, way more cheerfully than she had any right to be. "Not more scans, I… hope." She got a good look at him, and her expression softened. "Are you alright?"

"That obvious?" He scrubbed at his face again. How humiliating.

"Dr. Sha was pretty emotional the last few days of her treatment, too." 

"Yeah." Wolffe gratefully accepted the out she gave him. "It's rough."

"Do you want to grab a caf? The stuff in the doctor's lounge is better than anything in the commissary?" Kaeden thumbed over her shoulder. "Or should I just pretend I never saw you and you can go hide in the refresher or something?"

"Caf sounds good." Wolffe said resolutely. "This a date, Kaeden? I'm too old for you."

Kaeden snorted. "You wish. This is professional courtesy. Also, I have a study session with some classmates and I really want an excuse not to attend it. What better reason than helping my dear, elderly patient recover from his emotional turmoil?"

Wolffe winced. "That stings. At least I'll die before I have to get prostate exams."

Kaeden gave him a genuinely startled look.

He cringed. "Sorry. Ignore me."

"Dark places?"

"Something like that."

Kaeden let him into the doctor's lounge, which was thankfully empty, and poured herself a cup of caf. She drank it black, and cringed at the bitterness.

"You could add sugar."

"I don't like sweet things."

Wolffe snorted and found more of that foul tea from the commissary. It tasted less terrible than usual, but that was probably him getting used to it.

Kaeden gave him an odd look. "I didn't know anyone besides Dr. Sha drank that stuff."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it's some Dorin thing. I think it's pretty nasty, honestly. No offense."

"No, it's disgusting. I'm not sure why I've been drinking it." He looked down. "Did you talk to Rex?"

Kaeden silently shook her head. "I know what the answer is going to be. If I never ask, I never have to deal with it, y'know?"

"Yeah." He sounded ragged. "I know."

"Were. Ah, Jedi weren't allowed to be in relationships, right?"

"Tano wasn't a Jedi, but yeah." Wolffe sat down across from her. "Some of them broke the rules. I'm pretty sure Rex was covering for his General being married, but he won't give me a straight answer on that."

"Married?" Kaeden's eyebrows were up near her hairline.

"Never found out to who. Thought Rex was sleeping with him, but he punched me until I stopped thinking that."

Kaeden snorted. "You're ruining the image I have of Jedi being cloistered, noble warriors."

"There were some like that. They're people, though, at the end of the day. Everyone has temptations. Jedi just… overcome them."

He snorted. "Well, they're supposed to."

"Do you think—" Kaeden cut herself off. "Nevermind. I'm being silly."

Wolffe could see the shape of it, and the shape looked like pining. It was the same thing he saw when he thought too hard at a mirror. "I think, given what's happened, that most of them would relax the rules."

Kaeden sighed and closed her eyes, then slowly put her mug down on the table. "I told Ahsoka I wanted to kiss her, and she thanked me."

Romantic drama wasn't what Wolffe wanted to deal with, but it was better than keeping company with his own thoughts. "That's rough."

"That's mortifying." She corrected him. "I'll admit it wasn't the best timing, but there really wasn't a worse way to respond."

"No thank you?"

She deflated. "I guess." Kaeden shuffled her mug back and forth in her hands. "It's easier to talk about it like this. You know how I feel, don't you?"

Wolffe didn't look at her. "Maybe."

"It's why you aren't taking your medicine, isn't it?"

Wolffe inhaled sharply, swinging around to face her. "How—"

"I didn't know, until now."

Wolffe sagged on his chair. "Dammit. Am I gonna get locked up for this?"

"I won't tell Dr. Sha. I figure you're doing it for a reason." She shrugged, watching him sidelong. "I wish you would be more careful about your health, being the elderly gentleman that you are, but I can't make you do anything, can I?"

Wolffe didn't answer.

"What is it you're feeling, that makes you want to keep feeling this way, I wonder?"

"I," the word fell out of his mouth, "I was seeing him. And sometimes I feel like him. Other times I feel like I'm going crazy. It's not really worth it."

"So why are you doing it?"

He didn't have an answer to give her, so he just shrugged.

"I'm definitely gonna fail the ethics portion of my exam." Kaeden dragged her hands back through her thick braids. "Okay. I'll give you a week. If you don't start taking your medication, or work something else out for your treatment, I'm going to tell Dr. Sha."

She exhaled. "I don't think I'm lovesick enough to put up with hallucinating just to see Ahsoka."

"I'm not lovesick."

"You're sick with something, alright."

Wolffe drank his tea, and didn't respond.


	7. I'm feeling like I never should

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning for medical experimentation, and a medical crisis (seizures).

"Man of the hour!" Orrelios said a little too loudly as Kallus stepped into the Ghost's living room.

"When did you start drinking?" His nose wrinkled.

"Two hours ago." Syndulla said, with the slow patience of the only sober person in a room full of loud drunks. "Congratulations on the promotion, Major."

"It's only because they keep losing people." Kallus dismissed it, then accepted the drink Wolffe handed him. "But thank you."

"Look at him be humble." Orrelios crowed, slinging a heavy arm over his shoulder and manhandling him into the bench seat. "Let's sing a song!"

"Let's sober up a little." Rex muttered under his breath. Wolffe snorted.

"Are you allowed to drink?" Syndulla glanced sidelong at him. "Aren't you on medication?"

"You just don't want to be the only one responsible for these knuckleheads." Wolffe avoided the question.

"What, you catch something?" Rex looked at him slyly. "Been having fun?"

"Don't start."

"I'll tell you what's fun." Little Gods, Orrelios's breath smelled like he'd been licking the inside of a barrel of Corellian brandy. Or worse, some of Kix's toxic homebrew. "Being here. With you guys. I love you clones." He grabbed them by the shoulders. "You have the best sense of humor."

"Yeah, that's us," Rex said, carefully picking Orrelios's claws out of his shirt. "Real funny guys."

"I need to let you know." He cast about, and caught sight of Kallus, who was watching the unfolding catastrophe and hiding a smirk behind his glass. "You too! Why are you humans so small? You lot are the biggest ones I've seen and you're still tiny."

Kallus used all ten of the centimeters he had on Wolffe and Rex to absently glance down his long nose at them.

"You know how big you are?" Orrelios continued. "My gran was bigger than you. She was tiny. Barely over two meters. How do you reach things on shelves?"

"This is him after two hours?" Wolffe asked Syndulla while Orrelios pulled Kallus to his feet and held his glass just out of reach. He'd only recently arrived as well. More appointments.

"It was a long two hours. Apparently alcohol doesn't affect Lasat pregnancies, so he brought drinks for me too." She looked at him. "You're welcome, by the way."

Wolffe shrugged.

"Hera!" Orrelios laughed, holding Kallus' glass while Kallus made a less than half-hearted attempt to get it back. Quarter-hearted, maybe. "Hera, tell the humans they look funny."

"Sorry guys, my hands are tied. You look funny."

"You can sleep with damn anything, too." 

The room froze. Rex coughed. Orrelios barreled on.

"I had a human boyfriend once," he tallied off his fingers, "and well, there's Hera—"

"The father of my child is Wolffe." She said, serious enough that Wolffe himself believed it for a second. Orrelios ignored them. Rex snickered. "Who was never under my command, for the record."

"I mean, Kanan was a Jedi, but he was human."

Wolffe unwound himself from Rex's arm and took their glasses over to the sink. "General, you want more tea?"

"Please." She turned to Rex "Isn't he a darling husband?"

"Charming."

Wolffe flipped him off.

"You've got Lasat, Twi'leks, Duros."

"I once arrested a Senator for relations with a Wookie." Kallus admitted, very, very red. "I'm not actually sure how that worked."

"Wookies!" Orrelios tossed his hands in the air.

"Kel Dor aren't compatible with humans." Wolffe said absently, toweling off his hands. He felt eyes on his back. He turned around. "What?"

"How do you know that?" Orrelios grinned at him, all teeth. He caught Rex's silent suspicion.

"Served under one." He raised a finger. "Don't."

"I wasn't gonna say anything." Orrelios held up his hands.

"I was." Syndulla said around a sip of her tea.

Wolffe snorted. "Look, they're touchy. No oxygen anywhere, or they start hemorrhaging. You ever see a Kel Dor gushing blood from the eyes?"

"Ah, no." 

"Trust me when I say you don't wanna. Wolfpack all got a briefing on Kel Dor anatomy from one of the Jedi healers. They lay eggs in this little pouch," he tapped where his belly button would have been if he wasn't grown in a pod. "And they've got two livers."

"Doesn't everyone?" Orrelios looked between them.

"I've only got one," Rex said, "but you having two livers makes a lot of sense right now."

"I can't believe you're talking about this." Kallus muttered. "This is all extremely illegal."

"What, having two livers?"

"Xenophilia."

"Prude."

"How often do people actually go to jail for interspecies relationships?" Syndulla shifted forwards slightly, then shifted back with a small grunt when her abdomen hit the table.

"Not as often as you would think." Kallus waved a hand through the air. "It's mostly a political tool. You were spotted at a seditious meeting, xenophilia charge."

"Or if the Empire doesn't like your politics." Wolffe said.

"Or if the Empire doesn't like your politics." Kallus nodded.

"Good job bringing down the mood." Orrelios grumbled. "I was having fun."

"Maybe Wolffe can tell us more about Kel Dor."

"Maybe you can shut your trap before I shut it for you." It came out harsh enough to quiet everyone, before Syndulla cleared her throat.

"So, Major Kallus. Exciting stuff."

"Ah, yes." Kallus slipped down next to her. "I'll be overseeing intelligence operations. Long term materials tracking and some less urgent Fulcrum operations. Low risk plants in the Empire. It's mostly shipping manifests, though."

"Sounds… exciting."

"Not as exciting as dogfighting, but exciting enough."

Syndulla groaned. "Don't remind me of what I can't have. If I don't get my blood pressure down, I'm stuck on bed rest until I deliver."

"You try cutting salt out?"

"No, darling, I hadn't." She bared her teeth. If one was generous, they could call it a grin.

Wolffe grinned back at her. "Seems we've been keeping quiet, at least. I guess they don't want to stir anything up too soon after Lothal."

"The Empire lost a good chunk of ranking staff in this sector. It'll take time for them to be replaced." Rex shrugged.

"They'll have replacements in days. Probably already do." Wolffe rested his hip against the bench. "Same kind of natborns that made officer in the Republic."

Rex scoffed. "I can't believe Tarkin's lasted this long. Thought the man would have a stress aneurysm years ago."

"He looks like he had a stress aneurysm. Man's practically a skeleton."

"I was an officer in the Republic." Kallus quietly grumped.

"Yeah? And look where you are now."

"Okay, boys, enough arguing." Syndulla stood up and Wolffe stepped out of her way. "You're upsetting the baby, and he's decided to take it out on my bladder."

"He?"

"Later." Syndulla grunted, waddling at top speed to the refresher.

"She's not even halfway, yet." Orrelios observed sympathetically. "Maybe. How long is human gestation?"

"Ah," Wolffe looked at Rex, "took us six months?"

"Five." He confirmed. "But that was before the Jedi stepped in."

"Oh?" Kallus raised an eyebrow. "I admit to being ignorant of the whole GAR situation, beyond that it made naval academy more selective than it should have been."

"The cull rate was too high when the Kaminoans pushed gestation shorter than five months. Y'know, weird deformities, no lung surfactant, stuff like that. I mean, it was more efficient to run us at four months, even with the turnover, but it was unspeakably cruel." Wolffe looked down, and his head throbbed. "I'm ashamed to have been a part of it. Sometimes I wish the Republic had fallen, rather than we chose to force an army of children into combat."

Rex looked at Kallus, who shrugged. "You had one too many drinks, brother? You aren't making much sense."

Wolffe looked at him. He was taller than a clone ought to be, or perhaps he himself had become shorter.

"I don't drink?" He said.

"Uh, yeah, neither do I." The big Lasat yawned, showing off his fangs. "Ain't it obvious?"

"Are you feeling alright, Wolffe?" Kallus leaned forwards. His facial hair certainly wasn't up to code for the Republic, but that wasn't right, was it? The Republic had fallen, and—

Wolffe hissed, pressing a hand to his forehead. Sharp, splitting pain. He batted off Rex's hands.

"Don't touch me." He snapped, and winced at the sound of his own voice.

"What's wrong with you?" Rex's voice thrummed with concern, under the indignation. "I put up with you being an ass for nearly ten years. Get ahold of yourself!"

Wolffe ducked around the other side of the table, fingers still pressed tightly against his skull.

"Rex, I think something's wrong with him." Kallus was half out of his chair. Orrelios watched them, his ears twitching.

"Other than him being a jackass."

"Shut up." Wolffe groaned. "You're all so loud."

He blinked, and ended up on the floor. Syndulla's face swam into view, tight with concern.

"When you'd get back?" It came out slurred and sloppy.

"Wolffe?" She reached out and pressed a blissfully cool hand to his forehead. "Wolffe, are you with me?"

"Yeah?" He grunted. "What?"

He tried to push himself upright—why was he on the floor?—but his arms crumpled under him. Rex caught him before he could make a dent on the sheet metal with his face.

"Stay down for a second, brother."

"Were you crying?" Wolffe squinted at Rex's face.

"Why is being difficult the first thing you do?" There was real heat behind his words, but it wasn't directed at Wolffe.

"What happened?" Wolffe glanced around. "Why am I on the floor? Did I piss myself?"

"I think you had a seizure, Wolffe." Syndulla said measuredly. "Kallus and Zeb went to get a medic."

"Sorry." He said absently. "I'll clean it up."

"There's going to be a baby running around here in a few months. Trust me, the floors will see worse."

Syndulla stood slowly, using the table to lever herself off and batting away Rex's hands when he tried to help. "I'm going to get you some water and call Kallus."

Wolffe watched her leave. "Help me up."

Rex grumbled, but pulled him upright and deposited him with a towel onto the bench. He pressed a button on the wall and a little droid zipped out and cleaned up the mess.

"Am I gonna end up like Gregor?" Wolffe asked the table.

"You're fine." Rex said firmly. "Everything will be alright."

"You sound unsure." He folded his hands on the table, marveling at his fifth finger.

"Calling me on being scared for you?"

"Fear of death is fear of loss. You cannot lose me."

"What?"

"Death is simply a change. One becomes one with the Force. It is not a loss, but simply a shift. A change in being." He reached up to rub a bit of wetness from the corner of his eye, and was mildly intrigued to see his fingers come away bloody.

Rex's face went tight with fear. "Hera!"

"What?"

"Her—you stay here." Rex ran out to the cockpit. "Hera, something's seriously wrong with him!"

"What?"

"He's bleeding out of his eye. A stroke, maybe?"

Their panicked conversation faded as Wolffe pushed himself to his feet and walked out of the Ghost, his hand pressed against his temple.

"Hey, man, are you alright?" An X Wing tech, caught after-hours changing out a vent system, looked at him.

"I'm perfectly fine." Wolffe waved his hand. 

"Are you sure?" The tech watched his bloody hand. "Maybe you should go to medical."

Medical. There was someone in medical he recognized.

"Perhaps I should."

He didn't, though. Instead, his feet dragged him to the refresher, where he stared at himself in the mirror until he remembered who he actually was.

"What the fuck is wrong with me?" He whispered harshly, gripping the edges of the sink.

A call came through the overhead, requesting him to report to the hangar, but he ignored it. It was only a matter of time before Rex and Syndulla put out a silver alert for him: senile grandad, actually thirty, might be raving about Jedi. He snorted, then ground his molars together until he didn't feel like he was going to sob anymore.

Wolffe locked the door and slid down to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! Have two chapters as recompense.


	8. Why can't we be ourselves like we were yesterday

Wolffe grimaced at the taste of his own mouth, and staggered the last few steps into the GAR barracks on Coruscant. 76's was a bad idea, and so was everything after 76's. His back itched.

"Commander!" 

He shut his eyes at the bright rumble of General Plo's voice, then forced himself to behave with some dignity, and straighten and salute.

"Sir."

"I thought to catch you before our departure, but I was informed that you never returned to the barracks."

"Ah. Right. Sir." His greys were a day away from being fresh, and his head felt like it'd been crushed underfoot by an AT-TE

"Walk with me; I'd like to discuss our assignment."

"Was there some sort of problem, sir?"

"Not at all. The details have been hashed from here to Tatooine." General Plo looked at him. Wolffe felt a guilty twist in his gut. "I'm more concerned about you, Wolffe."

"Me, sir?"

"How is your eye?"

Wolffe blinked around the unfamiliar synthplast, and fought a wave of dizziness as his pupil readjusted for him. "It's fine, sir. I'm getting used to it."

"A lot to get used to. I thought you weren't supposed to imbibe on antibiotics?" General Plo chided him gently.

"I finished my course. How can you tell I've been drinking?" He looked pretty rough, but he always looked rough these days.

"I can smell it." General Plo tapped the side of his mask, where a nose would be on a human.

"Pretty good sense of smell."

"Yes." General Plo looked at him, then cleared his throat and glanced off at the city. Their walk had taken them around the barracks, to where it backed up onto the Senate building. "I think it would be… crude of me, to say what else I smell."

Wolffe exhaled. "A little, yeah."

"And the blood?"

"Long fingernails." Wolffe shifted in his greys.

"Oh." General Plo said neutrally. His forehead was a sea of thick wrinkles.

"Yeah."

"Humans—"

He cut himself off and paused for a long time, staring out over one of the many vertical corridors leading to the depths of Coruscant. Wolffe watched him. He was almost handsome, through the smog and residual haze of cheap liquor.

Kel Dor," he started again, "don't have sex for pleasure."

Wolffe about choked to death on his own spit. Plo Koon watched him placidly until he managed to get himself together enough to cough once into his fist. The horde of finely dressed passersby didn't pay any attention to them. Clones and broad silhouettes in Jedi robes were a common sight on the surface.

"That's something to say."

"It gives me something of an unfair advantage among my peers. I don't struggle with that facet of temptation the way they do."

"The way they do?"

"Hm. I oughtn't to burden your thoughts. I simply mean to say that humans fascinate me. You're so different." Plo Koon gestured. "Your skin is so thin that your veins protrude, and yet you essentially rule the galaxy."

Wolffe glanced down at his arm. "You can see a pulse through the skin sometimes, if you're real still."

"How horrifying." He said, but accepted Wolffe's hand, flipping it palm up and staring at the steady thrum of blood pulsing up through his arm and into his reddening fingers. Plo Koon gently ran a talon over it, not breaking the skin but leaving a little mark all the same.

"Does it hurt?"

"My heartbeat?" Wolffe laughed. "Not at all. Can't even tell most of the time."

"Your skin moves over your muscle. I find that odd."

"Yours doesn't?"

Plo took his hand and placed it over his own wrist. Wolffe touched his rough skin experimentally. It was more akin to hide than anything he would call skin, thick and leathery, and firmly in place over the underlayment. It didn't even move when he tried to pinch it.

"That's," he breathed, "odd."

"It's rather more difficult to leave scratches on me."

Wolffe fought down his flush, and the urge to rub at his back.

"You will see to those? I hope they don't scar."

"Scar?" Wolffe snorted, not letting go of his hand. "They're too shallow to scar. If every little scrape turned into a scar, I'd be nothing but keloid."

"I should hope not." Plo said absently. "You're very soft."

Soft was for manicured senators, tame tookas, and the kind of women Wolffe met on leave. He was calloused and battleworn, soft only in the way that old leather was, just before it became so brittle it broke.

Plo took his hand back, and ran a thumb over the hairs on the back of Wolffe's wrist.

"Odd thing to say."

"Let me have my eccentricities."

"Of course, sir." Wolffe forced down the rush of untoward delight. Plo's hand was firm against his own, slightly cooler than a cozy 37°C, tepid but not frigid. He closed his eyes and exhaled. When he finally breathed in again, he got a lungful of smoke.

The hand in his hand turned to ice.

"CC-3636," he heard himself say, "I have confirmation of death. Body is destroyed. Your kill, 55."

There was whooping over the general channel, and 55 opened a private one to message him.

"Thank you, sir. I'm just glad to see that traitor dead."

"Not much to see." 3636 opened his eyes, and observed the smoking remains of a Delta-7, and then looked down. General Koon's arm was mangled enough that it barely looked like flesh anymore. The shoulder was gone, charred to a stump, and the only real reason one could tell it had belonged to General Koon was the talon guard on his middle finger. How anyone could ever think the Jedi were anything but warmongers, when they looked like this. 

3636 shook his head and unfurled the body bag he brought with him. Not much of a body, but he put the arm inside, and climbed into the ship to search for more remains.

This was not normally a commander's job, but the Delta-7 veered towards the staging ground after it was shot down. They didn't have the manpower left for him to foist the job off on a lieutenant.

He switched on his head light, grateful to the engineers who designed their filtration systems, and slipped into the cockpit. General Koon was a big man, and 3636 felt slightly dwarfed in what remained of his chair. He glanced around, light cutting through the smoke. Soot blackened console, charred circruty, but no organic remains.

Something glinted in the gloom. 3636 reached out and picked it up: General Plo's lightsaber. He recognized the brutal hilt, but it didn't turn on when he thumbed the switch. Broken, or maybe only Jedi (traitors) could activate it. He tucked it in his belt, and tried to repress the sensation of familiarity.

"Found his lightsaber. Nothing of the body but the first remain." 3636 reported to control. "I'm coming back in for relief."

"Thanks, Commander." Came the exhausted reply from central control. "Awaiting your arrival. Out."

3636 levered himself out of the ship, and felt a distant, wrenching fondness. He saw himself leave, bodybag tucked under his arm, and breathed a sigh of relief. Then, he carefully pulled himself out of where he was wedged under the Athersprite and pressed a hand back over the rupture in his mask. The mud had helped some, blocking the air, but a change in atmosphere would be better. He waited a few more minutes, then slipped into the tangled underbrush, trying not to breath.

He spared a moment to tend his injuries and mourn could-have-beens. It was with a spike of guilt that he was thankful Wolffe wasn't a pilot. That betrayal would be too raw to survive. How horribly selfish, but he couldn't bring himself to care at the moment. He tied the ragged remains of his cloak around his bleeding shoulder and gathered his wits.

He had a ship to steal.

Coruscant again, and Wolffe with his arms wrapped loosely around a human woman. She was friendly, and didn't mind that he was a clone. Or maybe that was the reason she met up with him at all: no chance of pregnancy.

"Wolffe?"

"Hm?"

"Why didn't you kill me?"

He flinched back in horror, but the body in his arms was half again his size, ash scraping off the missing arm, mud smeared across the antiox mask, blood running from under his goggles.

"Why?" The word was choked off. Oxygen toxicity.

"No no no no no no no." Wolffe babbled, trying to do something, anything, as the body in his arms spasmed to death. "You lived, I saw it, you lived!"

Wolffe woke up with a shout, covered in sweat.

"Open the door, Wolffe!" Came Rex's voice from outside the refresher.

"Wolffe, please open up!" Female, stern but concerned. Syndulla.

"A crew with welding guns… take down the door." An unfamiliar voice, at a distance. Chopper grunted. "Or the droid."

Wolffe thumbed the door open. Rex's fist hung mid pound.

"Wolffe—"

"He's alive, Rex." Wolffe grabbed his brother's shoulders, shaking him. "He lived. I have to—I have to find him."

"Him?" Rex looked like he was about to cry. "Wolffe, what are you talking about?"

"The General." Wolffe stressed. "He lived, he survived the crash. Rex, he's alive."

"You. You're talking crazy, brother."

"Rex, do you think the chip…" Syndulla trailed off.

"Might've turned back on?" Rex grimaced. "He was asking me about Jedi locations. Who survived and all."

"He told me he was sick."

"He needs to go to medical."

"I'm not going anywhere." Wolffe pulled himself out of Rex's grasp. "Rex, I need to find him."

"Wolffe," Rex's voice cracked a little, "get ahold of yourself."

He didn't blame Rex for his hesitance. Wolffe was an incontinent, unkempt old man who might as well have been frothing at the mouth for all the sense he was making.

"I have to go." He shoved past Rex and the technician. "I need a ship."

"Wolffe, go where?" Rex said desperately. "Sit down, brother."

He put a hand on Wolffe's shoulder, and Wolffe snapped him into an elbow lock without thinking about it.

"Don't touch me."

"Let him go, Wolffe. Please," Syndulla held her hands up, "just sit down and breathe for a second."

Wolffe's eye darted back and forth. He lunged for the technician's service pistol, and felt a prick on the back of his thigh. He stopped short, swayed.

"Who?" He staggered, and hit the ground on his knees.

"It's thiopental." Kaeden took the empty syringe from Chopper. She was still in her scrubs. "An anesthesia. Help me lay him on his side and I'll call for a stretcher."

She looked guilty for more than just sedating him. Probably thinking how it was her fault for not forcing the medication issue.

"General," she said to Syndulla, "could you help me set up this heart monitor?"

"Sure."

The last thing Wolffe saw before the swimming darkness overtook him was Rex's face, his mouth set in a hard line, and his wet eyes finally spilling over onto his cheeks.


	9. I don't think you're what you seem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning for discussion of suicidal ideation

There was a haze around his memory, that suggested it wasn't really a memory. A dream, maybe. An idea.

"How does reading minds work?"

"I can't read minds. The Force allows me to see impressions of thoughts and emotions. The rest is guesswork."

"You're a good guesser, then."

"I can tell what you're feeling. It's easier with someone familiar."

"You can tell?"

"Yes."

"Huh."

His head hurt.

* * *

Wolffe opened his eyes. It was dark, but sight still split his head. He looked around himself. Hospital room. There was an IV puncturing his right hand, and he was wearing a pair of green disposable scrubs.

Rex was hunched in a chair by the bed.

"Rex?" Wolffe rasped, his tongue darting out to wet his cracked lips.

Rex startled slightly. "Wolffe. You're awake. How do you feel?"

"Fuzzy. Thirsty."

"Here." Rex grabbed a cup of half melted ice chips from the tray table and placed a few on Wolffe's tongue. "They don't want you having water until they do a gut x ray."

"Why my gut?"

"You might have a slow bleed. Blood loss can cause confusion." He sounded hopeful about the fact.

"Confusion." Wolffe snorted. "Right."

Rex closed his eyes. "They said you were sick. You dying, brother?"

Wolffe shrugged. "I feel dead already. Like I died but I didn't. I remember it."

Rex looked nauseated. He pressed the heel of his hand against his head.

"Why do I feel so," Wolffe tipped his hand back and forth in the air, "floaty?"

"You're on sedatives. You were thrashing something awful when you came out of it."

"I get you good?"

"Chest." Rex tapped his right pectoral. "It's gonna bruise."

"Sorry, brother."

"It's fine." Rex ran his hand over his face. "It's fine."

Someone knocked on the doorframe.

"Hey, Wolffe." Kaeden poked her head into the room. "Dr. Sha wants you for some testing."

"Sure." He considered resisting, but the thrumming panic in his head was quelled by the sedatives, and he didn't want to have to hit Rex again. Kaeden and Rex got him settled into a wheelchair and attached his drip to the side of the chair. Wolffe stared at it hatefully, or with as much hate as he could muster, which wasn't much.

"I've got him, if you'd like to wait here."

"Absolutely not." Rex said firmly. "Last time I let a brother get carted off by doctors, he ended up dying in my arms. I'm not leaving Wolffe alone."

Kaeden didn't have anything to say to that, so she just started pushing him down the hall. Wolffe found he recognized the section of the ship he was in. Fantastic. More testing.

He zoned out while they placed him into the scanner, and zone out when they got him out, and stayed zoned out until Dr. Sha looked at his scans and cussed.

"It's worse." She traced the lines of the Oorreclual gland.

Kaeden closed her eyes and opened her mouth.

"I didn't take my meds." Wolffe shrugged, and said it before she could.

Dr. Sha whirled on him. "This is pathogenic. You went from headaches and illusions to seizures!"

Wolffe watched her.

"Do you understand that you could die from this?"

He shrugged.

"Doctor," Rex stepped forward, "I think maybe he just needs a little time. I'll get him to take the meds."

Dr. Sha's face twitched. "He—"

"Here." The door slid open. Wolffe heard Rex inhale sharply behind him. He twisted his head around, and caught sight of Ahsoka Tano.

"Ahsoka?" Rex whispered.

"Midichlorian test." She continued, striding across the room. She handed a small packet to Dr. Sha, then hugged Rex. "I'm sorry. I'll explain everything later."

Kaeden's eyes boggled, swiveling from Rex to Ahsoka.

"Ahsoka?"

"Kaeden? What are you doing with the Rebellion?"

"Becoming a doctor. What are you doing alive? And with midichlorian tests?"

"It's complicated. The tests aren't. I took them from an Inquisitor."

Took them. It had a lot of implications behind it. Wolffe's gaze fell to her lightsabers.

"Hi, Wolffe." She said to him. "I'm told you're sick."

"Yeah. Dr. Sha was just reaming me about it."

"Master Plo always did say you were stubborn. Sorry to hear it's true." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Kaeden, why don't you run that test? I'm very interested in the results."

"Um, yeah. Right." Kaeden stuttered, staring at Ahsoka like she was the sun given shape. "Right."

She took Wolffe's hand and pricked his middle finger, depositing a drop of blood on the single use cartridge. After a few seconds, she looked at the results. Her eyes went wide.

"I think I'm reading this wrong." She held the test up to Dr. Sha, who hissed a curse under her breath.

"Its—"

"Positive." Ahsoka nodded. "I thought so. Well, this is new."

"Wait, you mean Wolffe somehow… became a Jedi?" Rex crowded over her shoulder to look at the screen. Wolffe blinked slowly.

This was exciting, wasn't it? Little Gods, it was like thinking through a fog.

"Do you think, maybe," Kaeden's eyes darted between him and the readout, "whatever psychically parasitized him could use the Force?"

"If a sarlacc consumed a Jedi, maybe." Dr. Sha said. "Some residual memory might've been transferred. Midichlorians are formed by the body, so if something tricked his brain into thinking it could use the Force, it might have started producing them."

"I can't use the Force," Wolffe scoffed.

"No," Ahsoka agreed, "but the test says that you should. What have you picked up, Wolffe?"

He shrugged.

"He's on some medicine," Rex said, apologizing for him. Wolffe felt like kicking him as he walked by, but thought better of it.

They finished whatever they were doing, and Rex carted him back to his room. As they left, they heard raised voices.

"Think they're arguing about you?"

"Arguing about whether or not to put me down." Wolffe scoffed.

"Don't talk like that, brother." Rex was quiet. "I'll stop them if they try it. I won't let anything happen to you."

"Fives messed you up."

"What messed me up is that my last brother is stuck in a wheelchair because he's too damn stupid to follow doctor's orders!" Rex spun him around and planted his hands on the arm rests. "You do not get to die on me, understood?"

"You're crying, brother." Wolffe reached up to thumb away some of the wetness on his face, but Rex pulled away from him and continued pushing him down the hall. They got back to Wolffe's room, where they both worked to situate Wolffe back into bed.

"Why do I feel like I got trampled by a herd of bantha?"

"Seizure." Rex grunted. He didn't know what to do with the IV, so he left it on the wheelchair pole.

"I guess."

"Why'd you do it, brother?" Rex said, his face in his hands. He looked out from between his fingers. "Did… were you hoping you'd die?"

Wolffe exhaled.

"Is that a yes?"

"It's not a no."

Rex closed his eyes.

"You didn't kill Tano, Rex. Gregor didn't hurt anyone. I gave Jag munitions clearance. I okayed him pulling the trigger. I found the ship, and I brought in what was left of his body. If you were me, you'd want to off yourself too!"

"Little Gods, Wolffe."

"I was in love with him." He whispered. It was cracked, parched and barely audible. Rex heard it anyway.

"What? The General?"

Wolffe didn't respond.

"That's…"

"I know."

Rex leaned back in his chair and was silent for a moment. "Always thought you were projecting about Bly and General Secura. Didn't think it was in this direction though."

"Shut up if you're just going to mock me."

"I'm not mocking you, brother." Rex said softly, leaning over and holding the back of Wolffe's hand. "I'm sorry, for what it's worth."

"It's not worth much. I wish I never felt this way."

"You don't mean that."

Wolffe looked down. Rex's hands were so wrinkled, a thousand little brown nooks and valleys gaped across his skin. The hair dusting his knuckles was coming in white, and liver spots dotted the backs of his hands. Wolffe's hands were identical.

"I don't."

* * *

Rex was napping in his chair when Kaeden came in.

"Hey, Wolffe, you awake?"

Wolffe grunted.

"That's good. I brought you some tea, the gross stuff you like. I had to nab it from Dr. Sha's locker." She put a thermos on the tray table and sat on the side of the bed. "I don't know if anyone told you, but you're clear on any occult bleeds.

"I," she cleared her throat, "I wanted to thank you for speaking up about your medicine. I probably would have been thrown out of the airlock. Dr. Sha is furious."

"I really don't care how Dr. Sha feels right now." Wolffe mumbled.

Kaeden looked down, twisting her fingers together. Her hair was bound back in a practical braid of braids, and she wore faded scrubs.

"I believe you." She said quietly, intently watching Rex for any sign of cognizance.

Wolffe looked at her, blinking.

Kaeden exhaled. "I'm getting expelled for this."

She reached over, and dialed back the drip of sedatives to nothing.

"Give that a few minutes and listen to me. Dr. Sha and Ahsoka think that your chip has somehow reactivated, but you didn't even react to Ahsoka, and I know she was a Jedi. You were raving about finding a Jedi when you woke up, before you tore out your IV." She glanced down and exhaled. "There's a patient in long term care that you should—"

"Hello?" A tech knocked on the door, carrying a tray. "I've got dinner."

"Oh, um," Kaeden stood up and brushed off her shirt, "yes, great! I was just speaking with Wolffe about his plan of care. That should be everything, Wolffe. I'll be seeing you for your surgery."

The tech set down the tray on the table, and left.

"Surgery?" Rex said, rubbing his eyes.

"Taking out my chip."

"Good."

The fog shrouding his mind was slowly lifting. Wolffe exhaled, and began to plan.

"I'm sorry, Rex, for hiding those messages from you."

"Stop that." Rex snapped.

"Stop what?"

"Stop apologising like you aren't gonna get another chance. I''l kick your ass later, and you can say you're sorry when I've got you wailing 'uncle'."

"Nice to admit the only way you're beating me is on my sickbed."

"Oh, you can think that if it makes you feel better. I remember the joint op on Ord Mantell."

"Must have been one of the memories I lost."

"Sounds more like you don't want to remember me dragging you out of that dianoga nest." Rex laughed, and it was almost like things were back to normal.

Wolffe exhaled slowly, and remembered that he wasn't that good of a person.

The fog was lifting away, and the full impact of Kaeden's statement was sinking in.

"Could I get another ice chip?"

"Yeah, sure," Rex grabbed the cup, "IV not trickling fast enough? Careful, Wolffe, they might get annoyed with you hobbling up to piss all the time and just cath you."

He leaned over Wolffe to give him the ice chip, and in a single move, Wolffe pulled his deecee from his belt and pressed it into his stomach.

"Sorry, brother." He pulled the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys wanna hear a joke?
> 
> Updates Wednesdays.


	10. I get down on my knees and pray

Rex collapsed with a grunt. Wolffe leaned over the bed and felt for a pulse, relaxing slightly when he found it in the crook of Rex's neck. He straightened Rex out on the floor, and tucked the pillow from his bed under Rex's head.

Wolffe gathered himself and slowly twisted to rest his feet on the floor. Then, he grabbed onto his IV pole to use it as a walking stick. Wolffe pulled himself out of bed, and only barely managed to keep from collapsing onto the floor.

"Okay," he panted, pulling himself upright using the IV pole, "okay."

He peeked out of the door. Clear. Wolffe tucked the deecee into the hemline of his scrub pants and walked down the hallway as casually as he could. The tech that gave him his meal would be back soon enough to pick up his tray, where she would find him missing, and Rex knocked out on the floor. He figured he had about fifteen more minutes before they called an alert on him. It'd probably be armed, this time.

Wolffe shook his head. Rex could hate him later; right now, he had something important to do.

He limped down the hall to the point where it diverged, and took the left route, back towards little Sha's office. His headache spiked, and he pressed a hand to his head, rubbing his palm into his prosthetic eye.

"Dr. Sha." He corrected himself aloud. "I'm Wolffe, CC-3636, of the 104th battalion. I was decanted on Dorin, and I—"

Headache again.

"On Kamino," he corrected himself. "I was a Gen—Commander in the GAR. Right now, I'm on the Alliance medical frigate Last Hope, and I'm going completely crazy."

The walls didn't answer him, so maybe it wasn't as bad as he thought.

"Silver alert, medsurg," the overhead system crackled to life, "Silver alert, medsurg."

"Shit."

"Update: grey alert, medsurg, grey alert, medsurg."

Rex must be up, then, and noticed that one of his blasters was missing. Wolffe accelerated into a hobble. He thumbed open the door to long term care, and came face to face with Aloa.

"Hey, you—" was all he could get out before Wolffe stunned him too. Wolffe tugged him into the hall, then closed the door to long term care and blasted the control panel. There. That should slow them down.

He limped over to the nurse's station and tried to pull open the patient logs, but the system was nothing but nonsense to him.

"Dammit." He brought his fist down on the keyboard. It felt like admitting defeat.

Wolffe closed his eyes.

* * *

"What are you doing, sir?"

"Meditating."

"Looks uncomfortable."

"I do not mind. Sit with me."

"I'm not sure I can sit like that."

"Hm. Can you feel it?"

"Feel what, sir?"

"The Force, surrounding us. Binding us. It is within you, and I, and every being in this galaxy."

"Not many beings too close to here."

"Oh? Does the grass not live? Look at it: it breathes and dies, and returns to the earth. It is a microcosm of existence. Through the Force, we all are connected. Reach out. You feel the rock underneath us? Does the stone not sing through the Force? You can feel it, can't you? You, and I, and the grass, and the rock, we all exist in tandem. Nothing is insignificant."

"I'm pretty sure a rock is insignificant compared to you."

"Not to the rock. Reach out with your thoughts. Find me, and I will show you the universe living in a speck of dirt." His eyes slitted open behind his goggles. "Feel how small a thing I am, and how enormous the thing of which I'm a part."

"I think you're chasing down the wrong droid, sir."

* * *

Wolffe opened his eyes. Room 311, his heart told his mind with a lonely wrench. He rubbed his hand against his chest. Now was not the time to be having a heart attack.

He held Rex's deecee out in front of him as he stumbled haltingly down the hall. 304, 305, 306, he turned a corner, 307, 308, 309, 310—

He heard the familiar snap-hiss of a lightsaber behind him.

"Put the gun down, Wolffe."

"What'll you do to me if I don't?"

"Please, Wolffe."

Wolffe dropped the deecee, and kicked it back towards Ahsoka.

"This is Ahsoka," she said into her radio, "I—"

"I'm sorry." Wolffe blurted out.

"What?" He could feel Ahsoka looking at him. He twisted his head around.

"I'm sorry. I didn't listen to you under Coruscant. I shot you without bothering to listen, and I got you wound up in some scheme because I was too trigger happy to let you speak. I didn't give you the chance to explain then, but I'm begging you, please, hear me out."

"Wolffe, what are you doing? Do you hear yourself?" Ahsoka implored him. "Wolffe, you shot Rex."

"I know!" Wolffe reigned himself in. "I know. But please, you need to listen to me. General Plo is alive, and he's in that room. I know I sound insane. I—I think I'm going insane, but not about this. Please, Ahsoka."

"If he's alive," Ahsoka said slowly, "and if he's in that room, are you going to kill him?"

Wolffe shook his head helplessly. "I couldn't. Not again."

Ahsoka watched him for a long moment, then extinguished her lightsabers. She walked forwards, and took his head into her hands.

"You got tall," he mumbled.

"It happens." She blotted his face with the heel of her palm. "I grew."

"Little 'Soka."

She flinched. "I want you to be right." She hit the door panel. "Wolffe, I want you to be right, but I know you're wrong."

Wolffe strained to see around her, his eyes wide. It was dark, and only the dim light from some distant sun illuminated the room through a porthole. There was a figure lying on the bed.

"Wolffe, he's been in a coma for years."

"What?" He said breathlessly. He felt himself sitting down. "What?"

Ahsoka knelt in front of him. "Master Plo survived the crash and found Senator Organa, and then he… fell asleep."

"Asleep?"

"Sometimes Jedi fall into healing trances, if their injuries are very great." Ahsoka said gently, "and sometimes they don't wake up from them."

"But he—he was in my head." Wolffe choked out. "Little Gods, why don't you just let him go?"

He rubbed away the tears streaking down the side of his face. His prosthetic eye spasmed. Wolffe barked out a laugh. "My damn—damn eye, it, it keeps—"

He gasped for air and covered his mouth.

"I'm sorry, Wolffe. He woke up, once. Nearly ten years ago. But he's gone, now. It's just a body."

She closed her eyes and gathered him in her arms. "I'm sorry, Wolffe."

"Why—why would," Wolffe swallowed. "I gave the call to kill him. I found what was left of him. Why—why would the fucking Force make me think he was alive only to take him again? What did I do wrong?"

His voice was high and pathetic, and he couldn't get out more than one word without choking down his feelings.

"Nothing, Wolffe."

He wept, the way he hadn't since he was a child, huddled in the arms of a woman four years older, and three decades younger than him.

"Sometimes, things happen." Ahsoka's voice was thick. "He's gone. I'm sorry."

"Little 'Soka," came a thready, muffled voice, "don't tell the man tales."


	11. I feel shot right through with a bolt of blue

"General?" Wolffe heard himself say.

Silver eyes glinted through the dark. He pulled free of Ahsoka, who was frozen in shock, and numbly stumbled into the room.

The distant star cast light across Plo Koon's uncovered face. Instead of his mask, he wore a sort of plastic hood that covered his head and neck and ended at his shoulders. He was paler, and the distinctive spots and swirls of color were richer. He was missing an arm.

"General?" Wolffe whispered. He reached out a hand, then drew it back.

"Master Plo?" Ahsoka stepped behind him.

The General blinked. "Wolffe?" He said thinly. His voice was weak not only from presumably not having been used in two decades, but also from the strain of making himself heard through an oxygen atmosphere.

"Sir?" This didn't feel real.

"I think you have something of mine." General Plo's finger twitched. Wolffe reached out and brushed his hand with the back of his finger.

"Oh." Wolffe popped the word. It was a strange sensation, not dissimilar to losing his eye: the sudden awareness that something was gone, and you never even noticed it was there to begin with. Then, it had been his peripherals on his right, and the synchronicity of two organic eyes. His prosthetic lagged microscopically behind his real eye. It'd been nauseating at first, but he'd grown used to it by the time his PT was completed.

Now… it was like Plo Koon had torn a hole in his soul taking the pieces of himself back. Wolffe reached up with the hand not touching Plo and smeared away the tears from his cheek.

"I've gotta stop doing that." He said, half muffled by his own palm. "Don't want to look bad in front of you, sir."

"You couldn't do that." He spoke a little more firmly now, less like a reflection in the water. "Little 'Soka."

Ahsoka staggered over and took Plo Koon's hand, folding it between her own.

"Look at you," he beamed, "so tall."

"It happens." Ahsoka's voice wavered. "You're old, Master Plo."

"Hm," he glanced down at himself, "I suppose I am. I must have slept through it."

"That's not funny."

"It's not. I'm sorry for making light." Plo Koon reached out and tweaked the end of her lek.

The code repeated over the intercom. Wolffe winced.

"Armed and dangerous?" General Plo tilted his head. He was more expressive without the mask, but Wolffe could read him either way.

"You know me, sir." This was too easy. It was so simple to fall back into old routines. It was like twenty years of regret and misery had never happened. His life was a bad dream he'd woken up from.

General Plo looked at Ahsoka, and some silent Jedi thing passed between them. Plo Koon stroked her cheek, and Ahsoka sighed.

"I'm going to get Sha and a doctor." She said quietly. "I think you too have some things to talk about."

"We have some things to talk about, Ahsoka." Plo Koon said firmly.

"Later." Ahsoka put her hand on Wolffe's shoulder as she walked by, smiling tightly at him.

"Thank you." He managed to force out.

"You would have done the same."

"No, I wouldn't have,"

Ahsoka waved him off.

He eventually turned back towards Plo Koon, who was watching him.

"Sir?" He cleared his throat. "I'm having trouble believing any of this is real."

Plo Koon turned his hand over and let their fingers tangle together. "What have I done to you."

"That didn't sound much like a question." Wolffe snorted, rubbing his nose on his bicep. "It was you, wasn't it? My chip, I mean. You… shut it off."

Plo Koon closed his eyes, his eyelids vanishing in the thick wrinkles of his face. "I remember crashing. I assumed it was a droid ship until the order came to find my body."

"I didn't find much." Wolffe said.

"No," Plo snorted, "nothing essential."

His shoulder twitched.

"Senator Organa changed the return frequency, warning Jedi to stay away. I…" Plo said ponderously, "do not recall how I found him. It's somewhat unclear in my memories."

"Trauma distorts your perception." Wolffe informed him. "It can screw up the way you remember things, or if you even remember them at all."

"You've been reading."

"I'm in mandated therapy." Wolffe tilted his head. "I caught your shellshock, didn't I?"

"Hm. I found the senator," Plo changed the subject, "and succumbed to my injuries. The will of the Force, I suppose. We Jedi can turn inward and facilitate healing. I suppose I had a lot of healing to do."

"Ahsoka said you woke up."

Plo nodded. "Once, I think. I was alone and in a bacta tank, surrounded by droids and strangers. I thought I'd been captured; I looked for you."

"You found me." Wolffe tapped the side of his head. "Really screwed me up. I think I'm mad at you, but it… it's all too much." His voice broke on the last word. "It's too much."

Plo watched him cry, and reached out to thumb some of the wetness off his face. No claw cap. He looked so unlike himself without all his regalia. Instead of a great Jedi warrior, he was small and thin in a hospital bed. He wore the same disposable scrubs as Wolffe.

"I would have left. After the war."

"Sir?"

"The fighting was turning me into a person I no longer recognized. After Ahsoka was expelled… I found I could no longer believe in the Jedi. That I could no longer be a servant of the Force. I would have left, if you asked me."

"That's cruel." Wolffe sobbed. "Don't tell me that."

"I wanted you to ask me." Kel Dor didn't cry like humans. There were no tears involved; they didn't even make the same pathetic noises. Wolffe could barely hear the low trill in Plo's chest over the sound of his own heartbeat thrumming in his ears.

"Stop." Wolffe managed. He squeezed Plo's hand tight enough to make his bones creak.

"It is all that is left unsaid upon which tragedies are built." His voice didn't even waver, the bastard.

"What, that some Jedi wisdom?"

Plo shook his head. "Sith."

Wolffe shrugged, and laughed. It came out more like a sob, but he ignored it. "It doesn't fire, but you can still throw a broken blaster at somebody."

He crouched by the side of the bed. His knees would be aching, but it was worth it to be able to look Plo in the eye. He had tiny pupils, but Wolffe didn't know if that was a result of his long bout with unconsciousness, or if it was natural for Kel Dor. The silver of his irises glinted in the starlight, stark against his black sceleria.

"This is the first time I've ever seen you without a mask." Wolffe said, reaching out with his other hand to touch the plastic hood. "On Seelos, was it you I saw?"

"It was in a long dream," Plo said, "I saw you in the desert, and you raged at me. I am sorry, for what I've done to you."

"You don;t get to say that." Wolffe shook his head. Plo watched him, his eyes searching Wolffe's face, then nodded, slowly.

"Plo?" Came a breathless voice from behind him. Wolffe twisted around.

"Little Sha."

Dr. Sha stepped into the room and stared down at her uncle. Wolffe stood, not without some pain, and tried to step back to give them some privacy, but Plo wouldn't let his hand go.

"I was afraid you would never return to us," She said stiffly. She glanced over at Wolffe, some unreadable expression crossing her face, then looked back at Plo. "We need to speak. Later. Now, you need medical attention."

Plo pulled a face. "If I must."

"You must. Wolffe…" she said slowly.

"Right, yeah." Letting go of Plo's hand seemed like an impossible task, but he forced himself to do it, one finger at a time. He felt cold, and very hollow. "Sir…"

"Wolffe." He said it so gently that it hurt. Something was clenching up inside him, the same part of him that was convinced this was some horrific nightmare. He'd wake up, and General Plo would still be dead, only now, he was a madman and his last brother would never trust him again.

He touched Plo's wrist, then backed out of the room on unsteady legs. There were a pair of orderlies waiting for him, and Ahsoka, and Kaeden, looking insurmountably guilty.

"Is Rex alright?" He asked her.

"He's pissed." She told him bluntly.

"Okay." He sounded dazed. Maybe he was still drugged. Maybe this was a fever dream, or the last happy thoughts of his brain as it shorted out on all the electrical signals. He could be satisfied dying like this. Maybe the ship would implode, or the Empire would round up another Death Star to reduce them to scrap metal. He wouldn't have to sort out the chaos drumming between his ears if he were a clonecicle floating out in space.

The thought was more appealing when he realized he wouldn't have to justify himself to Rex.

The orderlies escorted him back to his room, where they restarted his IV and hooked him up to a bag of saline. No sedatives this time, although he dearly wanted to not be here right now. An involuntary bout of unconsciousness sounded like a good idea.

Wolffe slowly leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes. For the first time in years, he didn't dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that the big event is revealed, i can tell you all that this is called 'Plo survived getting exploded' in my word documents.
> 
> the quote about tragedies an being left unsaid is from KOTOR II. Don't google it unless you want the twist to be spoiled.


	12. Every time I see you falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Close enough to Wednesday

He was still spending his nights on the Last Hope, but they gave him free roam between his various appointments. Surgery consults, medication trials for the seizures he wasn't going to have anymore, but for which they suspended his bid to join the Rebellion, and increasingly awkward meetings with Dr. Sha, who always seemed equal parts relieved and upset.

This was why he was in the commissary when the news broke about the Death Star.

"Wolffe!" Orrelios called to him over the chaos. Wolffe looked over and saw him, head and shoulder above the crowd, waving. He forced his way through the press of people.

"Wolffe," he said, ducking closer to Wolffe's ear, "we're shipping out. Evacuation effort on Yavin IV. Transport leaves in twenty."

"I can't—" Wolffe tried, but someone bumped into him from behind.

"Look, mate, I don't have the details, but even I'm not stupid enough to miss Rex being pissed." His ears pricked up. "There's Kal. I've got to go. Make things right so he doesn't end up shooting me in the back, eh?"

He pulled away from Wolffe and met with Kallus by the entrance, gripping his forearms and ducking low to speak with him.

Wolffe finally managed to free himself from the crowd, and went to the Ghost. The hangar was a flurry of activity, and the Ghost was noticeably not a part of it. He stepped into the ship and found Rex in their shared room.

"Orrelios says you're leaving soon." He traced a dent in the metal doorframe.

Rex flinched, and put a hand on his blaster. Wolffe closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"How many times are you gonna say that and not mean it?" Rex glared over his shoulder.

"I figure I've got once or twice more before you shove me in a trash compactor." Wolffe snorted. "What are you wearing?"

"Armor," he grunted, shoving his helmet over his head. It didn't hide his face like clone armor, so Wolffe could see how furious and hurt he was.

"You look like a traffic officer, brother."

"That's the point," he snapped. "Don't call me that."

"Rex—"

"Shut up. Do you have any idea how terrified I was? My last brother, gone crazy? The hell did that mean for me, then? But no, turns out you're a selfish, addled dumbass who doesn't care about hurting other people."

"I know." Wolffe closed his eyes.

"Then fix it." Rex jabbed a finger into his chest. Wolffe caught it, and refused to let go when Rex tugged.

"I think I was going to turn out like Slick." He said quietly.

"What?"

"You heard me. I would have betrayed the Republic because I was being jerked around by some officer who looked at me and saw a number. Gone rouge. Funneled some information, probably." He shrugged. "Maybe I would have gotten a chance to kill Dooku or Grievous." He huffed a laugh.

"Should have done it and spared me the pain of having to deal with you."

"I lost eight-hundred brothers at Abagedo. You know what the Republic did after they died?"

Rex was silent.

"They got me with a courtsmartial for losing three Venators. General Plo talked them out of it. I spent nine hours trapped in a pod with him, thinking about how much I hated him, and his Jedi platitudes, and his shitty naive optimism, and he stopped me from being decommissioned. I never believed in the Republic, but I believed in him. I'm sorry for betraying your trust, and using you, and shooting you. And I'm sorry for hiding your messages. I don't have an excuse for it."

"I can't—I don't forgive you, Wolffe. Not yet."

It stung, but he expected it.

"After this is over, we'll talk."

"You do realize we could all die?"

"Kind of hoping for it right now." Rex grimaced. "I don't exactly enjoy feelings talk with you."

Wolffe flattened his mouth, and embraced Rex. He drew back, clasping his forearm.

"Don't die on me, brother."

"Same to you," Rex said, "brother."

He left, and the gaping void in Wolffe filed in a little. Wolffe made his way to the cockpit, and found that he didn't care if he was in it or not. No nightmares of burning, no flashbacks to Cato Nemodia. He was fine. It was just a place.

"Hey." He said to Syndulla.

She was staring pensively out of the cockpit window, her face twisted and her lekku twisting. The pilot's seat was pushed back as far as it could go to make room for her belly.

"Hey." She grunted.

"You're grounded?"

"What gave you that idea?"

"The fact that there's a still a Death Star."

She huffed a breath. "Yep. I'm too fragile."

"You're eight and a half months pregnant."

"Twi'lek gestation is ten. I'm fine." She scoffed. "I have to sit and watch my friends get killed by Imperials. And then we'll all die anyways." She lashed out and kicked the console with the heel of her boot. "Fuck!

"I loved Kanan." Syndulla said, not looking at him.

"What?"

"I loved Kanan. I think I knew after we met Ezra. Oh, I liked him, but it wasn't… it wasn't love until then. You wanna know when I told him?"

Syndulla tilted her head back at him. Wolffe looked down.

"Ten seconds before he was killed." She said flatly. "He didn't even know I was pregnant when he died." She looked away and snorted. "I didn't even know if I was going to keep it."

"I'm… I'm sorry."

She scoffed. "I didn't want to scare him away. No, that's not true. I didn't want to commit. Committing meant I would care. I guess I was too stupid to realize that I already did."

"Why are you telling me this?" Wolffe asked quietly, his shoulders so slumped they might as well be at his knees.

"You know why." Syndulla pushed herself to her feet and waddled to the hatch, jabbing her thumb at the ladder. "Get the fuck out of my ship."

"I'll bring you some tea."

Her face twitched. "Thanks."

The ship was mostly empty. Anyone who could, was sent down to Yavin and anyone who couldn't was ready to jump to the regroup point if the battle was lost. The medical frigate was detached, and preparing for an emergency hyperspace jump. It was a worst case scenario maneuver, but they were in a worst case scenario situation. The Fortitude jumped to the new rendezvous once all of the fighters launched. Home 1 was a combat ship, but the Fortitude was a glorified hangar.

The commissary was empty. So were the hallways. Oh, there were a few useless layabouts like him lurking around: people too fragile to man battlestations, or people like Syndulla.

The hangar was still busy as the emergency crews prepped the landing strips and prepared for mass casualties. Wolffe walked past them and handed Syndulla the mug of tea through the cockpit hatch.

"Thought you would be on the Last Hope."

"Missed my ride. They detached and retreated before the ground crews launched."

He climbed up and sat next to her, staring at the communications console as the reports began filtering in. They listened as the relief effort landed on Yavin and began the evacuation, while the pilots began forming into attack squadrons for the trench run. 

"That's Rex and Orrelios."

Syndulla grunted.

They sat together in silence until the radio cut into static. Syndulla smacked the side of it, shifting uncomfortably.

"C'mon, work!" She hit it a few more times, until the long range finally shut off.

"You're crying."

"Shut up." Her eyes hardened. "Shut up. Chopper! Prep me for launch!"

She turned on him. "You! Get off my ship!"

"You need someone to man the cannons." Wolffe gritted his teeth. "I'm not dying watching us lose a battle."

"Then go!" She shoved him towards the turret. "Flight control, this is the Ghost. Requesting clearance for launch."

"General Syndulla?" Came the confused voice of the flight control officer. "Uh, negative, I'm not allowed to clear you."

"It wasn't a request. Am I clear to launch?"

"Um—"

Chopper whirred over the intercom.

"Got it!"

Syndulla fired the engine and lifted out of the hangar bay. A second before she launched, Wolffe felt a presence brush against his psyche. It almost felt like a kiss for luck.

"Punch it!"

The stars warped around them as they tore out of the hanger.


	13. Whenever I get this way

"Sabine, this is Hera." Syndulla shouted into the comm. "We're engaging with the Empire over the Yavin system. We could really use a hand right now."

She ended the message and sent it to Mandalore, where Sabine was still engaged in a drawn out guerilla war with the Imperial loyalists.

"You really think she's going to come?" Wolfe said, strapping himself into the gunner's seat. He checked his scopes and adjusted his target FOD for midrange.

"You came." Syndulla said. She made a pained noise.

"You alright, General?"

"Fine." She said. "Let's do this."

They slipped around Yavin IV to a losing battle.

"What the hell is that thing?" Syndulla gasped, bringing the Ghost around to chase a TIE.

"How the hell are they going to evacuate around that?" Wolffe twisted the pod to target it. Rex. His face twisted and he forced himself to stay in the present.

"Gold leader, this is Phoenix leader." Syndulla pulled them into a tight spiral to avoid fire from a pursuing fighter. "What's the situation?"

"Phoenix leader, we are attempting the trench run on the Death Star," Came Gold leader.

"Hera?" Red two crackled. "Why are you here? I thought you were on medical leave?"

"Can it, Wedge! Why aren't those turbolasers destroyed? Wolffe, get that fighter off my tail!"

"Yes sir." Wolffe spun the turret, centering his sights on the TIE. He pulled the trigger and it exploded in a burst of flame. He whooped, punching his fist in the air.

"The Empire is jamming our transmissions," Gold Leader explained. "We can't call for backup and we can't contact our support craft. I—"

"Pull up!" Wolffe shouted, anticipation pulsing through him. Syndulla yanked the yoke, pulling them out of a burst of laserfire. A strange TIE roared past them, peppering them with blaster fire. In front of them, an X-wing exploded into debris.

"What the hell?" Syndulla shouted. "What kind of ship was that?"

"Watch for enemy fighters." Gold Leader said over the comm. "They're coming in; three marks at two-ten—"

The transmission cut off suddenly, as the TIE hit the Y Wing's fuel cell.

Green Leader came over the general channel. "This is Arvel Crynyd; I'm ordering a full retreat."

"General!" Red Leader shouted. "We won't have another chance. We can make the shot; we just need more time!"

"We'll give it to him. Wolffe, target the flagship turrets!"

"Got it." Wolffe took aim, firing at the outposts as Syndulla flew by, dodging fire from the swarm of fighters.

Syndulla pulled them into another spin, then cut the forward boosters, letting the TIEs fly past them. Wolffe hit one, but Syndulla took the ship on a wide loop around one of the destroyers before he could hit the second.

"I don't like flying for a reason!"

"Shut up!" Syndulla's voice was high and thin with pain.

"General, are you alright?"

"I'm fine! Keep shooting!"

A minor explosion rocked the ship.

"Rear deflector shield is down! Chopper!" Chopper warbled and tutted off to the engine room to begin repairs. Syndulla twisted the ship out of the way of an incoming TIE, but the blast that took out the shielding must have done some damage to the rear thrusters, because they were slow, and listing badly to the side. Wolffe could see it. They weren't going to make it out of range in time.

At least it would be quick, and he couldn't linger over his regrets. He set his jaw and fired at the TIE, but it was too quick and too small to hit without the help of Syndulla's expert flying.

"Hera…"

"I know!"

Suddenly, the TIE errunted into a ball of fire, and a Lancer-class patrol ship rocketed out from the debris.

"Phoenix leader, this is Phoenix-1." Wren's voice came over the radio. "Hera, sorry it took me so long to get back."

"What matters is that you're back now."

There was a whoop over the general channel. "This is Red two, Red five made the shot! Let's get out of here before it blows!"

Wolffe aimed the Ghost's heavier cannons at the fighters chasing them. The Ghost still lacked maneuverability, but Chopper managed to patch the shields enough to keep them from being instantly killed when they took a nasty blow. The ship rocked, and Syndulla yelped.

"General." Wolffe called up again.

"I'm fine!" She bellowed. She took them on a final flyby, and he managed to hit their pursuers.

"All units, retreat!" Green leader said, and Syndulla punched into hyperspace. Wolffe exhaled, pressing his head against the disabled control and barking out a hysterical laugh. His hands were shaking.

"I'm not cut out for flying anymore." He joked as he climbed up the ladder to the cockpit. "I was maybe two more TIEs from a heart attack. General—"

Syndulla was curled in the pilot's seat, her forehead pressed into her knees.

"General, are you alright?"

"Fine, I'm fine." She said faintly. She flinched and gritted her teeth together.

Wolffe stared at her. Chopper came up behind him and bumped into his leg, warbling with excitement.

"Chopper, how much longer until we make it to Home 1?"

The droid grunted out an answer.

"Okay," he breathed out through his mouth, "okay. General—Hera, why don't you get down from the seat and, uh, I'll find a blanket. And hot water."

She twisted her head up to glare at him. "Wolffe, do you have any idea how long labor takes?"

"Twenty minutes?" He raised his hands helplessly. "It took twenty minutes last time this happened to me."

"Try twenty hours," Hera grunted, shuffling to her feet.

"Twenty hours?" Wolffe's eyes flicked to her stomach. "It takes you twenty hours to push that thing out?"

"Don't call my baby a thing." She began taking little steps around the cockpit. "Labor lasts twenty hours, not the pushing. Do you have any idea what I would look like if I spent twenty hours squeezing a puffer pig through an engine hose?"

Wolffe's face went pale. "It's not—" he formed his forefinger and thumb into a small circle. "It's not that big." He finished weakly. He felt himself flush. "Uh. Ignore that."

"Ha!" Hera barked a laugh, leaning against a wall and exhaling slowly. "No, I don't know how it works. Please, explain in detail how pregnancy happens."

"If it's all the same, I'd rather not."

"Haaaa," she hissed through her teeth. "Talk to me; distract me."

"Well, I can safely say that we're probably going to spend a long time in the brig for this."

"I'm sure we can get out on medical. Pregnancy brain and all."

"What about me?"

"My unwilling accomplice."

They were walking around the ship, Hera with one hand on Chopper for support, when they finally cleared the queue for docking on Fortitude. Hera waddled back to the cockpit and carefully brought them in to land, where they were surrounded by a squad of troopers. They looked out of place among the cheering crowd surrounding Red Five.

"Wren's picking a fight." Wolffe observed, giving Hera a hand and lowering her down the hatch. His back would be aching in the morning.

Wren wasn't the only one picking fights.

"This is absurd." Antilles threw his hands in the air. "She was the one who took down most of the turbolasers on the Death Star. Look, why don't you ask—"

He caught sight of Hera, curled around her stomach.

"On second thought, why don't we call medical."

"Hera!" Wren pushed through the crowd, followed by Onyo and Aloa, who looked harassed and miserable.

"Sabine!" Hera exclaimed, gingerly wrapping an arm around her. "Thank you."

"I'm not about to let you take on the Empire alone." She looked down. "Or give birth alone."

"I'll get a wheelchair." Aloa said, his lekku twitching. "When did your pains start?"

"About two hours ago."

"Two hours?" Wolffe turned on her. "Before we launched?"

"I thought it was indigestion." She said defensively. Aloa settled her into the wheelchair and pushed her over to the hoverlift. Wolffe looked at the rebel officer in front of him, and held out his wrists.

They gave him the dignity of not being manacled on his way to the brig, but he was searched once he got there.

"I haven't had a blaster in months," he griped as the rebel in charge of processing patted him down. He wasn't actually sure he was a member of the Rebellion, but he was too drained to argue. The adrenaline was dying down, and with it, his will to do anything other than sit and stare at a blank wall for a few hours. 

"Your preliminary charge is accomplice to theft of Rebellion property." He was informed as he was led to a clean little cell.

Wolffe sat down, wincing as his back popped.

He closed his eyes, and reached out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who completely forgot the star wars timeline and accidentally had Hera pregnant for three years by making this battle the battle of endor?


	14. I'm waiting for that final moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is something of a double update. Please make sure you've read the previous chapter or this won't make much sense.

It was something like a memory. Rather, it was a memory, from the battle of Hisseen, but he knew this had never happened. They hadn't managed to sleep in the tents they'd set up, as they'd been washed away by a flash flood from the rapid snow melt as the second sun rose. Moreover, Plo Koon was missing an arm, and his face was bare.

"How long is this going to last?" He asked, shifting in his sleeping bag. It was cold on Hisseen. Unfortunately, his sense memory was still good.

"I couldn't say." Plo had a hat pulled over his Lavrren organs. He looked deeply silly. "I've never formed a link of this magnitude."

"I'd kinda like to be able to dream in private again."

"Hm. Chatter around the Last Hope is that you're jailed."

"Currently, yeah. Long story. You were there, weren't you?"

"Before you left, I reached out."

"Hn." Wolffe rolled on his side, propping his head under his hand. "I knew a shot was fired before it happened."

"That might continue for some time. Residual… effects." Plo reached out with his hand and ran a finger along the side of Wolffe's moustache. "How odd."

"You're lucky I don't look like Rex." He ran a hand back over his hair. "I could be balding."

Plo chuckled, low and deep. "I suppose I am."

"That dream I had; that was yours, wasn't it?"

"I have many dreams. It is a consequence of the Force. You'll have to be more specific."

"The command tent on Felucia. And your vows."

"Ah," Plo drew his hand away. "That may have been mine, yes."

"How long?"

"I don't know."

"Dream felt pretty sure to me."

Plo laughed, then sobered. "Jedi… have a universal love, for everyone and everything. Part of mercy, and service. Jedi serve the Force, and the Force wills that we embrace the universe.

"I loved you and your brothers before I knew you existed, but the feeling," he looked away for a moment, "changed, about you. I couldn't tell you how, or when, but I eventually came to realize that the way I felt about you was different than the way I felt about rocks, or trees, or nerfs." 

"I really hope you dont feel about nerfs the way I think you feel about me." Wolffe watched him. His irises were bright in his black sclera, flashing like fireflies in the dim light.

"I don't know what I feel about you. I can't name it. It's become somewhat all consuming."

"I was you, for the past five months." Wolffe said, shuffling a little closer so they didn't have to speak so loudly. Plo's voice was thin in an oxygen atmosphere, and his brothers were sleeping mere meters away, bundled in their own tents. "Pretty all consuming, if you ask me."

Plo chuckled, then went quiet for a while. Wolffe watched him, watch Wolffe. What did an old Kel Dor even look like? Humans turned wrinkly and their hair went pale. The pattern of rings and whorls on Plo's face was starker, but that could have been the Kel Dor equivalent of a spacer's tan.

"What are you looking at?" Wolffe asked, muffled by his bicep.

"You. I find you handsome."

"That's something to say."

"It's not you, I suspect. Rather, it's not you personally. I've spent too much time on Coruscant. I admit I have some difficulty finding my own species attractive."

"You xenophile." Wolffe snorted. "What's handsome for a Kel Dor?"

"Nothing so different from any other species. Evenness of features. Height. Solid line patterning is particularly attractive, as are large Lavrrens."

"So you're a catch, huh?"

"I understand you are as well." Plo's eyes crinkled, and his voice took on a mocking tone. "Ms. Syndulla's baby is healthy."

Wolffe snorted. "Not gonna live that down, am I?"

"I knew Caleb." Plo said. "Master Billaba's apprentice. Clever, and enthusiastic. I am sorry to hear of his death." He paused, and corrected himself. "I am sad to hear of his death."

"Good enough guy." Wolffe shrugged uncomfortably. "I may have shot at him a few times."

"Is that all?" Plo raised a brow.

"Brought the Empire down on all of us. You know I'm not a good person."

"And you know I don't believe you when you say that."

Wolffe let himself exist in the moment. It was the escape pod jolting as it was reeled into General Skywalker's ship. It was the tension uncracking as he was dismissed from the tribunal. It was the surety in Plo Koon's voice washing over him, and for the moment, it was enough to let him pretend that everything was alright.

"When my chip broke… when you," Wolffe waved a hand, "latched into my head, the first thing I did was jam my blaster in my mouth."

"Wolffe…" he sounded stricken.

"Let me finish. I didn't shoot. Kind of obvious." He rubbed his head. His hair was long enough to curl, now, and he hadn't had time to gel it flat in between all of the hospital bedrest and blowing up TIE fighters. "I wanted… to want to. But I didn't want to die, I just wanted to not be myself, for a little while. CC-3636, Wolffe, brother, Commander. Being back in combat, back on the ship; I couldn't stand to be the same person as any of them."

"The rudimentary psychic link," Plo said gently, "became stronger with decreased distance. The mind wants to heal, you understand, the same way the body does."

"Yours took a while."

"It will take longer still. Wolffe," Plo leaned a little closer to him. "I was confused, about how I felt. I am still confused, but I know this: I want to be with you in any capacity you allow. As a friend, as a mentor, as a brother, a lover. Anything."

Wolffe closed his eyes and rolled into his back, turning his head to face Plo. "What if I didn't want you at all? What if I never wanted to see you again?"

Plo let out a slow breath. "And you accused me of being cruel."

"Well."

He exhaled and opened his eyes. "You remember Khorm?"

"Of course."

"Good." Wolffe reached over and held the back of Plo's head, gently pulling them together until their foreheads met. He wiggled his other hand under the side of Plo's head, resting on the ground, and held him like that. They were face to face, breathing the same air.

He'd kissed, been kissed, for real, even, not this battlefield shadow, but this made his head spin with vertigo. Plo slowly reached around his shoulder and placed his hand on the back of Wolffe's neck, carding his fingers up through his hair.

"Anything," he said, "whatever you're willing to give."

And then, because he knew he'd never have another chance to do it, he leaned in and kissed Plo on the cheek, just under his eye. He pulled back and moved lower, this time his oris, dropping down from his nasal ridge and hiding his mouth, then a tusk. Wolffe pulled back. His hands had somehow gotten tangled up inside Plo's hat, and they were competing with his chest for the warmest part of his body.

"Do Kel Dor kiss?" He asked, a little breathless, propping himself up on his elbow.

"Not like this."

"That's a shame."

Plo's hand curled around the back of his head, pulling him down. It was a little awkward finding his mouth, and Wolffe kissed his flat, skull-like nose before Plo directed him south with a huff of a laugh. 

"Ever since Khorm," Wolffe managed between kisses. "I thought maybe Ventress took a slice of brain when she hit my eye, but I knew when you visited me in that field hospital. I…"

He pulled back and planted his hands on either side of Plo's head, looking him in the eye. His pupils were somehow even more constricted, little pinpricks in a sea of glinting silver.

"I love you."

Plo carefully reached around him, and tugged up the sleeping bag where it had fallen to his waist. He let his hand linger around the back of Wolffe's neck, his thumb coming to rest in the crook of his jaw, above the pulse point.

It was enough of an answer.

"I'm pretty sure I'm about to get kicked out of the Rebellion."

"You? No."

Wolffe pinched his armpit. "Ass." His voice was so fond it was almost embarrassing, but it was just the two of them here, no matter what low conversations struck up outside by the brothers of his memory.

He leaned down to kiss him again, on the forehead. Plo cupped his cheek, so he turned and kissed the center of his palm too.

"I think…" he said slowly, "I have to go." 

"Then go. I will wait for you."

Wolffe smiled, and slowly woke back into reality.

There was a very concerned Togruta crouched in front of him, waving his hand back and forth before Wolffe's eyes.

"He's not responding at all."

"His file had a medical flag. Seizures, I think."

"Yeah, but he's not thrashing."

Wollfe realized belatedly that he'd probably been staring blankly at the wall for however long he'd been splitting minds with Plo. He met eyes with the Togruta, who snapped to attention.

"Mr. Wolffe," he said, waving his hand in front of Wolffe's face.

"Yeah." Wolffe rasped once he remembered how to speak.

"Oh thank the Hunt," he pressed a hand to his chest. "You aren't dead."

"No." Wolffe agreed, because it seemed like the right thing to do in this situation.

"Er, right." The Togruta looked at him funny. "We're here to take you to speak with some of high command. Consider it a pretrial interview. You'll tell them what happened, so they can determine if this needs to go to a full martial."

"Sure." Wolffe agreed. He felt agreeable.

Again, they didn't manacle him, but he looked like a man who, in the right light, could indeed be called elderly. Nevermind that he managed to outpace the natborns until the day Plo Koon decided to lease the spare areas of his brain. Although, Wolffe didn't often feel like the same man who led the charge and suffered for it on Khorm.

The charging, not the suffering. His prosthetic was a little twitchy from all the saltwater he'd been shedding as of late.

His brain came back to itself during the walk to the debrief room (now apparently serving as his pre courtsmartial room), and by the time he was sweating outside the door, he'd managed to pull himself out of his prior drooling state.

The Togruta led him into the room and sat him down. All three members of high command were holograms this time, except it was Colonel Ko, General Draven, and a young woman with brown hair. Organa was from Alderaan, wasn't he?

"CC-3636, ah, Wolffe," Colonel Ko began, reading from a holopad, "you're being charged with theft of Republic property, endangerment of a medically delicate individual, and insubordination. We'd like you to explain the events that took place prior to, and during the Battle of Yavin, from your perspective."

"Seems like you've got a pretty good handle on the situation. Why bother asking me?"

"Because we are not the Empire." General Draven spoke up. "And you deserve your chance to speak before we decide if there was even a crime. For all we know, you received a distress call."

"I didn't receive a distress call." Wollfe closed his eyes, and made a bad decision. "I wanted to be part of the battle. I felt useless on the Fortitude. I convinced General Syndulla to fly into combat."

"General Syndulla doesn't seem like the kind of person who can be convinced by anything." The dark haired woman spoke up. Her hooded eyes were piercing.

"She felt bad for me." Wolffe shrugged. "Or I scared her. Look at my file: I've got a history of violence. The hell is a pregnant woman going to do if I pull a gun?"

The woman's lip twitched.

"Anyways, I didn't think the Ghost was Republic property. The General owns it." Wolffe crossed his arms, the very picture of belligerence. 

"Wolffe," Colonel Ko looked up from her datapad. "Do you understand that you can spend a very long time in a Rebellion jail for this?"

"I'm not part of the Rebellion."

"General Syndulla can still press charges against you. And there's still the matter of the insubordination."

"You put lives at risk." The woman said flatly. "What if the Ghost had been destroyed? Or the Shadow Caster?"

Wolffe shrugged. "They weren't." He knew arrogant people, but he was never close with any of them. Instead, he tried to channel General Kenobi's nonchalance. "Frankly, I don't understand why you're making a deal out of this."

The three of them started speaking, but the sound on his end was muted. Not a fantastic sign, which was a fantastic sign. Wolffe did his best to project distaste and boredom. It worked well enough that the woman's disgust with him was tangible.

"Wolffe." General Draven finally said. "We're moving forwards with your courtsmartial, on the rounds of insubordination. You have the option to face trial, or to exit the Rebellion."

"I exit." Wolffe said, a bit too eagerly.

Colonel Ko looked at the other two, then back at him. "You're singing a different tune than you were five months ago."

"Well, five months ago I hadn't eaten at the commissary."

"Very well." General Draven stepped in, business-like. "You'll need to swear an oath and sign an intent to exit, and then you'll have twenty hours to leave Rebellion property. I can arrange a shuttle to take you to Yavin Prime's spaceport."

Wolffe scribbled his batch number on the datapad the Togruta brought him, then held up his hand and crossed his heart not to tell anyone about the Rebellion. The Empire didn't let you leave like that, which was probably why the Rebellion did it at all.

Colonel Ko signed off, then General Draven with a frown. The woman glared at him, and Wolffe remembered where he recognized her from.

"You're Senator Organa's daughter, aren't you?"

"Yes." She said, watching him suspiciously.

"I knew your father during the Clone War. He was a good man. I'm sorry to hear he's dead."

She was silent for a few seconds. "Most people say 'he's passed', or 'he's no longer with us'."

"No need to mince words." He considered his harshness. "Unless you want them minced."

"I don't." She gave him an odd look. "You'd better get going. Draven isn't known for his patience."

"All in due time." Wolffe steeped his hands together in front of his stomach, then caught himself doing it, and tucked them behind his back.

"One of my friends was in the air over Yavin." She said abruptly.

"Oh?"

"If you brought it to trial, I'm sure you'd have people to speak on your behalf."

If he brought it to trial, Hera would inevitably do the right thing and call him out for lying, and then she would be on the firing range too.

"It's fine. Besides, I've always wanted to travel. What do you think Dorin is like?"

"It's under Imperial occupation." She arched a brow at him.

"Huh. Someone should do something about that."


	15. You say the the words that I can't say

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, please make sure you've read the previous chapter.

It was just his luck that Kaeden was the one who answered his knock to the maternity ward, otherwise he would probably be right back in the brig.

"Wolffe?" She boggled at him. "Do you have any idea how lucky you are that I'm on mother-baby?"

"Kaeden. I need a favor."

She watched him suspiciously. "Depends what the favor is."

"I need to talk to Hera. General Syndulla."

"Oh." She pursed her lips, and waved him in, glancing down the hall to be sure that they were alone. "So are you actually the father?"

"You know anything about Kamino clones? They engineer us all sterile so we can't, ah, what was it? Share trade secrets? Our DNA is property of the Kaminoian government."

"That's… awful." Kaeden led him down the hall.

"Hn. You didn't catch any heat, did you?"

"I think the director of my program wanted to expel me, but Ahsoka convinced her not to. Master Plo is a good friend of hers. I suspect she was mad that they didn't try whatever they could before declaring him a lost cause."

"He was the one who found her and brought her to the Jedi Temple."

"I guess I'd be pretty protective too."

"How does Tano have sway in the medical corps?"

"She's a Jedi, or she was, at any rate. She's got an in with some pretty powerful people."

"Good person to have on your side."

"She's not on my side. I'm still mad at her for running off and letting me think she was dead. I think I'll forgive her eventually." Kaeden tapped her knuckles against her mouth. "But I want to hold out until she grovels a little more."

Wolffe snorted. "I can advise you from life experience not to do that."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Contrary to appearances, I'm actually five years older than you."

"Wisdom of children," he shrugged, and she rolled her eyes and opened the door in front of them.

Wren was there, looking almost as tired as Hera, who was propped upright in bed with a squished and wrinkled infant in her arms.

"Hey," he said quietly, "who's this?"

"Wolffe." Hera smiled, looking completely drained. Pushing out a whole baby would do that. "Meet Jacen."

"Hey, Jacen." He held out a finger, and gently stroked one of Jacen's nubby lekku. "He looks like you."

"He has his father's nose." Hera said.

"Right, the mysterious father." 

Wren snorted. "I can't believe you spread that rumor. I can't believe anyone bought it."

"Doesn't matter." Hera waved her hand, careful not to disturb the sleeping infant. "If anyone says it's Kanan, it's just another rumor now."

Wren looked somewhat unsettled by that, but frowned and held her tongue.

"Going to keep mum forever?"

"Maybe once I destroy a capital ship. They didn't have any over Yavin and I feel cheated."

Wolffe didn't push it. He knew when someone was avoiding a question. "Speaking of." He cleared his throat.

"Yes?"

"I'm very sorry for forcing you to fly me into battle." He caught her eye. "It was entirely my decision to join the fight over Yavin, and I'll face the consequences of it."

"Wolffe, you—"

"That being said, could I borrow the Phantom II? I may have just been kicked out of the Rebellion."

She stared at him, eyes wide and eyebags wider. "What?"

Jacen must have caught the tension in the air, because he snuffled and started fussing.

"Oh, shush, shush, love." Hera muttered to the baby until he settled down.

"You're lucky." Wren leaned forwards. "He was wailing for a good three hours before you got here."

"I take it you were busy getting booted?"

"Among other things."

She gave him a look. "Do I want to know?"

"Spacing out and staring at a wall. I'm pretty sure I nearly gave my guards a heart attack."

Hera sighed loudly. "Wolffe, do you want to hold Jacen?"

He looked at the baby, who was blinking like it was still a novel experience. To be fair, it probably was.

"I won't hurt it?"

"I let Sabine hold him earlier."

"Hey!"

Wolffe leaned over and accepted the infant from her. He was heavier than he looked, and squishier. His eyes were brown, and his skin was splotched in green and tan.

"Support his head." Hera chided. Wolffe nestled Jacen in the crook of his arm and held out a finger. The baby unconsciously grabbed onto it.

"Ah," Wolffe hissed. "Little guy's got a grip on him."

This was much less traumatic than trying to keep hold on a slippery baby while the gunship was being bombarded by a droid regiment. Jacen was almost cute, even if his head looked like someone had taken hold of both sides and squeezed all the mass toward the middle. Wolffe thumbed his tiny nose.

"He's cute." He mused.

"Almost makes you want one, eh, Sabine?"

"No thank you." Wren crossed her arms behind her head. "I'll stick to being the cool aunt."

Wolffe handed the infant back to Hera. "So?"

She watched him for a long moment. "I think," she said eventually, "that if I could, I would go to Ryloth and free my people. Take back my planet. But I can't do that; I have responsibilities to this Rebellion that I need to see through." She met his eyes. "Where is it that you want to go?"

Wolffe shrugged. "Think I might stir up some trouble on Dorin. A friend mentioned the place once."

She gave him another inscrutable gaze. "Swing by Ryloth when you're done. I have the feeling you'd get along well with my father. The access code is 35542."

"Hera—"

"You said you needed a new canvas, didn't you, Sabine? Besides, the Empire has an extremely fancy new TIE. I'd love to take a crack at flying it." She looked down at Jacen. "In a month or so."

She motioned him forwards and pressed a kiss to the center of his forehead, then hugged him. "Good luck." She whispered.

"You too. Jarrus' kid is going to be a handful." He felt Hera smile before she pulled back and slapped him on the shoulder.

"Now get out of here. I'm convalescing."

Wolffe nodded at Wren and shook her hand, then stepped outside into the hall.

"One more stop." He said to Kaeden.

"You want to go to long term care again, don't you?"

"That obvious?"

She rolled her eyes and jerked her head for him to follow.

"What exactly are you planning?"

"I don't know yet." It was more of an idea than a concrete plan, which was very unlike himself and much more like Plo. For all their centered and collected nature, Jedi were very much inclined to spontaneity.

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

Dr. Sha was closing the door to room 311 when they arrived.

"Wolffe." She looked down at him. "Ms. Larte."

"Doctor."

She slowly exhaled. "I feel like I should call security on you. I would like to, but you matter a great deal to my uncle, and it would hurt him if you were gone."

"That's a very blatant way of putting it."

"There's no reason to dance around the issue." 

"Um." Kaeden looked back and forth between them. "I should go and check on General Syndulla."

Dr. Sha smiled tightly. "Dr. Aongayyhr will be missing you."

Kaeden smiled hesitantly at Wolffe, before she turned tail and fled and politely as she could.

Dr. Sha sighed and turned to look out of the windows lining the opposite side of the hall. Wollfe joined her.

"I suppose I should apologize for misdiagnosing you."

Wolffe shrugged. "It wasn't like anyone could have known what was really going on."

"Hm." She turned towards him, looming slightly. "He's fragile. You'll need a wheelchair."

"I—thank you."

"We'll see if I live to regret this." Dr. Sha left him watching the empty expanse of stars. After a long while, he opened the door to room 311.

"I was expecting you earlier." Plo watched him approach and sit on the side of the bed. Wolffe took his remaining hand and held it between his own.

"I got held up. So, want to run away with me?"

"Where to?"

"Ryloth, eventually, but I thought we might make a stop by Dorin first. Introduce me to your family." Wolffe held Plo's hand a little more tightly. "You know I've only got about twenty years left. If that."

"Do you know how long Kel Dor live? Our lifespan is shorter than humans. I doubt biology would let me survive long after you."

"Morbid way to put it." It was a relief nonetheless. Wolffe couldn't bother to feel selfish about it. "I think I'm done with morbidity for a while. I feel like being optimistic."

"Optimism?" Plo raised a brow. "How unlike you."

"Yeah, well. I think I've changed a bit. Ready to go?"

"With you? Of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done! Thank you so much everyone who commented or left a kudos! It's been a blast, and I can't say how much I appreciate that you all enjoyed this.
> 
> Maybe I'll write some side stories in the future, maybe not
> 
> As always, I'm Biofreak659.tumblr.com, so shout at me over there if you'd like


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